Novel

The Seer

By Christian Mueth

Chapter 1

The man needed a shower — he had murder smeared all over him.

A click. A flash. A woman appeared in the man's place.

Her face was caked in layers of makeup. Even her dimples appeared to be painted on. A smile managed to find its way from out of under the layers, but it was unnervingly stiff. Despite this, her eyes had an earnestness to them. She was a suspicious character. She was also innocent.

Yet another flash. Another man. His mouth hung open, limply, and his eyes floated off in the distance. A common idiot. Nothing more.

More clicks. More flashes. More people. All of them had a distinct look. Yet, none were undecipherable. A person's face could tell secrets that even the person themselves weren't privy to. All it took was a twitch in a cheek. A flick of the tongue. A dart of the eye.

There was a click, followed by a beep. The holographic screen of faces went to black.

"Only ten minutes!? Alright, that's not fair... You have to give me your secret!"

It was Mrs. Paige, the director of the forensics department. Dice spun around to face her. He could've relaxed his eyes. Instead, he let them narrow and focus in. Mrs. Paige injected an infectious cheeriness into her speech, but it was far too easy to see through the facade.

"What do you mean, 'only' ten minutes?" Dice asked. His voice was underset by a cold tremor.

"'What do you mean?'" Mrs. Paige said, parroting him with a nervous chuckle. "You went through a quarter of the mugshots from the Monterey District's criminal database, mixed with decoy mugshots from volunteers, and you were somehow able to differentiate them with 76.7% accuracy. And, even though we've been sending the analysis of your performances to our learning algorithms, you're beating them."

"It was only 76.7%..." Dice said. "Explain to me why this is so impressive."

Mrs. Paige crinkled her brow in confusion, before giving a wry smirk. Dice smirked back.

"Alright, you got me!" Dice said, forcing out a laugh.

Mrs. Paige joined in with a laugh far more convincing than his. That is, convincing to everybody in the office except Dice. There was a ringing in his head. She might've been better at laughing, but he saw how the corners of her eyes didn't quite tighten right. He heard the subtly uneven inflections in her laugh.

In mid-laugh, Dice stopped altogether. It struck him how odd a sight the two of them laughing must've been for the rest of the office. Mrs. Paige had perfectly brushed dark hair, stiff clothes, and a reserved face. Yet, she was still eager to join in for a laugh. Meanwhile, Dice had fiery hair, unkempt clothes, and a fresh face. Though, he had more control than Mrs. Paige amid laughter. Among strangers, it would've seemed that they'd mind-swapped.

Mrs. Paige stopped to stare at Dice. She'd noticed him looking around. Caught him thinking. What was she thinking?

"Thank you for conducting that test," Dice said, disallowing emotion into his voice. "Anyway, I have a list of diagnostics I need to run through."

He spun his chair, turning back to his holographic computer screen. His hands swiped along it, becoming little more than a blur of motion. He caught Mrs. Paige's eyes in the reflection of his screen. She blinked. She was lost. To her, and everybody else, it must've even seemed that there was no screen. Names, locations, evidence, computer code, analytics... It was invisible to them. Dice's eyes danced, soaking it all in.

Mrs. Paige gathered herself and cleared her throat. Dice thought he heard her chuckle under her breath, despite herself.

"Dice, we're not done," she said. "There's a reason we've been having you take these tests."

"There's a reason I was hired for this job. And, I intend to do it. So, make it quick."

Mrs. Paige scowled, before resuming her composure.

"I've spoken to my superiors. There are few people who can outmatch the algorithms like you do. Would you be interested in a promotion to a position beyond this clerical work? A position involving higher government? The MDPD?"

Dice's hands slowed, and he collapsed his holographic screen. His chair squealed, coming back to face Mrs. Paige.

"Who in this office wouldn't be interested in that?" Dice said, disinterestedly.

Mrs. Paige closed her eyes and shook her head. "Mr. Raymond... I'm offering you an opportunity of a lifetime. I'm not going to let you walk out of that door without you accepting!"

Dice rested his chin on his hand. He stood from his chair, lifted his briefcase, and walked past Mrs. Paige.

"Alright then," he said.

He made his way toward the door.

"Uh... Mr. Raymond?"

Dice might as well have not heard her.

"Dice?!"

The door slid open as Dice approached it.

"You can finally give Gill my chair," Dice said.

Mrs. Paige rubbed her forehead.

"Is that a yes?"

The door slid shut. Mrs. Paige could vaguely hear Dice's footsteps as he left the building. Then, a whoosh as he entered the tunnel to transport tubes. He was gone.

Somebody gave her a pat on her back, before resting their arm on her shoulder.

"He was a weird one, wasn’t he?"

Indignant, Mrs. Paige looked to see who was talking to her — only to find one of her employees. She opened her mouth to respond.

"Well, I—."

"Also, I don't want that chair. It's the worst one in the office. Send it to the trash mines, or whatever."

The employee gave a smug grin, before returning to their desk.

. . .

Dice sunk into his seat and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. As the transport car closed, the engine kicked on with a hum. After about three seconds, it had accelerated to 300 kilometers per hour. In ten more seconds, that speed tripled to 900. A calm washed over him.

Calmness drained from everyone else. The car was in a vacuum tube, which was known to be deadly in the rare instances when it malfunctioned. Despite there being a crowd in the car, all that could be heard was the steady thrum of the tunnel. Anxiety settled around them. Dice listened as it brushed past people, making them shuffle in their seats. Somebody drew their briefcase closer to their chest. Another person's eyes dodged around.

Dice grinned — it was almost funny. Anxiety had latched onto everybody, except himself. There wasn't any reason to be uncomfortable. The transport tubes had a reliable record. Besides: whenever Dice sat in the car, he always had the cushion of an empty seat on each side of himself. He could never understand why people avoided sitting next to him and gave annoyed glares — perhaps it had something to do with his habit of staring at people — but he appreciated having extra room for his briefcase and legs to rest on. It was the best part of his day.

Actually, it wasn't quite the best part.

Dice's eyes were fixated on the window. The ride was supposed to be a few minutes, but it felt like an hour while the city-scape ran by. Complex high-rises, road-ways and specks of people turned to a blur. Then, it all went black as the car entered a tunnel. The city blinking into darkness was surreal. Something stirred inside him and dragged his eyes to his feet. Was it joy, or was it fear?

The car roared, and Dice was steadily thrust forward. He brought his hand to the dial of his left ear's hearing aid, but the car went mute before he could change it. He shielded his eyes as sunlight dumped on his face. The car had come to a stop. It let out a deep exhale as its door reopened.

After a mess of shoving and tripping, Dice found himself standing on a glossy street. He was caught in a sudden flush of lights and sounds, so overpowering the sky disappeared amidst it all. Though, it would only be a moment before the lights and sounds would also disappear.

Dice turned his hearing aid to its second-lowest setting and took a pause to let his eyes swim around. Feet pounded against the ground, mouths opened to shout, hands tapped along metal railings in impatience, but it all fell on deaf ears. In the silence, Dice could observe with no distractions. It was just him, his eyes, and the world. It provided an hidden barrier — a sanctuary.

He squinted and focused his gaze on a milk elevator. It was just down the street, behind a forest of beams and people. He forced a smile, clutched his briefcase close to his chest, and began his trek through. Immediately, his efforts were greeted with angry elbows and shoulders. Immediately, Dice returned the greeting.

He'd played the game of pushing through crowds for years. While he wasn't any better than when he'd started, he'd learned how to play a different game.

He caught a man's face. The man's shoulders were tense. His fists were clenched — he was clearly high-strung. The man's eyes flitted to the left, and then went toward the sky. He was going to shift right. Dice skimmed over another man's face. Right. A woman's. Left. A man's. Straight.

Left. Left. Straight. Right. Left.

Dice shifted his direction accordingly, taking a smooth pathway around them all. It was a habit so satisfying he'd become addicted to it. It almost made the walk to his apartment worth it. Almost.

As Dice neared the elevator, the rush of people shrunk. A surge of relief rose to his chest.

Dice clutched his shoulder and let out a shout. In a daze, he tried to maintain his sense of balance and direction. He'd been clipped by somebody. Tenderly rubbing his wound, Dice continued his walk toward the elevator. He didn't bother looking back to see who'd clipped him. He didn't need to look. He didn't want to. He already knew who did it. He'd known it a few moments before he'd been hit, when a soft mechanical whir breached his ears. A robot.

Dice put his eye to his elevator's scanner, and furiously punched in the code.

39782. Enter. There was a beep as bold red letters appeared on the scanner.

"Access Denied."

How? He must've put in the wrong passkey. He held back a grimace as he racked his brain, but realized he was too distracted to remember the right one. It was the pain in his shoulder. No... It was the robot.

If only he'd looked back at it and stared into its soul. Yet, he couldn't have. He always had trouble with robots. They weren't like people. Their emotions were buried deep within them, among a weedy undergrowth of wires and transistors. That is, if there were any emotions at all.

Dice pushed the thoughts away and entered a new password. There was a quiet beep. The scanner and keypad rose into the air, along with the milk wall to the elevator. Dice took a step forward, and the wall fell behind him.

The interior of the elevator was an egg. Lining the rounded floor were two plush couches. They ran parallel, starting at the entrance to and ending at the exit. Dice stood in front of the exit, bringing his nose mere centimeters from it.

Turning his hearing aid to the highest setting, a smile spread across his face. He could hear every gear, wire, and motor. He tried piecing each sound to create a working model. A shaky image formed. Though, his thoughts collapsed just as he neared completion.

There were groans and puffs as the capsule's hydraulics came to a halt. The exit door rose. Dice made his way into a long hall. The exit closed, followed by the echo of a second door. The door to his apartment.

Dice's footsteps joined the echoes as they made their way down a platinum hall, decorated with medals and plaques. "Web Developer of the Month". "Repairman of the Month". "Programmer of the Month". "Computer Analyst of the Month". "Volunteer Computer Interface Reviewer of the Month". Last of all, "Paid Computer Interface Reviewer of the Month". They'd all come over the span of a few years, the oldest being dated in 2678, and the most recent in 2683. None of them dated before Dice's professional adult life.

Dice felt a twinge of pride as he skimmed over them. Maybe he should take the time to dust them off and bring back their former sheen. They deserved to be shown off to people.

The pride fled, leaving just a twinge on his face. He looked away and hastened his pace.

Dice's hall led into his room. It was a small space, about 20 square meters. However, it was home. Everything was kept there. On the left wall was a panel that would fold out into a table, two chairs, and a feeding apparatus. On the right, a panel that would fold out into a sleeping-tube. On the floor, one that would fold out into a couch. Opposite from the entrance, a white sphere was anchored into the ground. A holographic computer projector.

On the ceiling was a panel that would open into bathroom — a situation that was particularly annoying. To use it, he had to retreat for the entrance hall to allow the room to rotate into the right position. Maybe things were too small. However, he couldn't afford a new apartment. Not yet.

Dice made a hand motion, prompting his couch to unfold. As he settled down into it, he smiled thinly.

"Five years," he said, under his breath. "It took five years. At least I'm almost there."

He thrust his head back and closed his eyes. He'd jumped through so many hoops to make it where he was. Too many. Suddenly, his chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. He tried taking deep breaths, but only spiraled further.

After a few failed attempts to calm himself down, he sat up and waved his hand in the direction of the holographic computer projector. It blinked, spun around, then locked in place. The room lit up with a soft blue light as a computer screen projected in midair.

Dice's hands returned to their blur of motion, logging into the computer and whipping through pages of documents. "The Map to Climbing the Career Ladder". "How to Influence Mrs. Paige". "How to Reach Peak Efficiency".

Once he'd sifted through every document, Dice rubbed his hands together and leaned back. Everything was in place and accounted for. The shadow of another smile crossed his face.

"Computer! Code: refraction. Activate program: trial simulation delta," Dice said.

The blue light flickered, and the projector whirled around. The holographic screen abandoned its inviting white interface and adopted a cruder format. It was covered in black space, random pixels, and lines of code. Dice's eyes darted across it. He scrunched his brow.

"Finally... A challenge."

He activated the screen's keypad and added in a few lines of binary. The screen flashed and transitioned into another mess of numbers, letters, and pixels. Scrunching his eyebrows again, Dice entered another line of binary. His heart fluttered. The screen flared and transitioned.

He checked the timer in the corner of the screen. Only thirty seconds. He could do better than that.

After ten minutes, he'd shrunk his time to ten seconds. An hour drained by, and he maintained his pace. It was as if time were frozen. The tense furrow on his brow unmoving, Dice flittered his hands about as if he'd just begun.

Two hours went by. No change, except for a creeping twitch in Dice's eye.

Three. Sweat poured through his bodysuit. Steam came off the projector, with it moaning at each turn it made. Though Dice couldn't stop. There was an allure to the game. He could almost feel what the computer was thinking. It could be part of him, if he were to move faster. Think faster.

His head ached. His eyes were on fire. Finally, he blinked. Eyes still closed, he said, "Computer! Code: refraction. Deactivate program: trial simulation delta."

The projector hissed as it slowed its pace and spat smoke into the room. A fit of coughs overcame Dice. He ran toward his entrance hall and tried waving he smoke away.

"Where are the sprinklers?!"

His words were met by a mouthful of water. It poured from panels in the ceiling, making quick work of the smoke. The room was a bath in minutes, but the sprinklers also made quick work of Dice. Their blasts left him sprawled across the floor. He struggled to find a firm grip as he crawled toward the entrance hall.

The water stopped. An alarm made two beeps. A pause. Three beeps. Choking on the water still in his mouth, he scrambled toward the hall.

This was just peachy.

He leaned against a wall with one of his legs in the air as he wrung his pants leg out. Despite his bodysuit being waterproof, he was drenched to the skin. His bodysuit had lost its light blue hue, turning to a dingy gray.

"Great... I'll have to let the dresser-bot change my clothes again."

A glass barrier fell between him and his room. The floor to the room slid away, revealing a black pit. The hall rumbled. Water gripping to the glass barrier streamed down, and the smoke faded away. Dice let out a sigh. The vacuum had started.

Its floor sliding back into place, the room lit up a soft blue. Dice's eyes shot to his computer projector. A new hologram had opened up, displaying a message in bold: "Congratulations on your promotion. Don't use your feeding apparatus tomorrow night. I'd like you to meet me at 17:30, in the Glass Americana. I think you'll like the food there. Sincerely, Professor Cassius."

He went over the message several times, taking care that he didn't miss anything. Professor Cassius? Of all people?

The barrier went up. Dice remained. His gaze was transfixed to the screen. In a certain way, Professor Cassius finding out made sense. Professor Cassius had enough connections. A massive web, really. In fact, Dice should've prepared for this message. It had been practically inevitable.

He read it over one last time. "I'd like you to meet me at 17:30, in the Glass Americana."

Dice brushed himself off.

"Alright then."

. . .

A black ooze coiled around Dice's neck. There was a wheeze at his every breath. He closed his eyes. He reopened them. The ooze spread around his wrists and ankles, dragging him backward.

He grunted and tried to wrench his arms free. As his right arm stretched outward, he barely managed to reach something. A wall? Yes. A glass wall. There had to be something to grab. His hand fumbled around. He needed to move quicker.

Not quick enough. Dice's hair raised as his hand squealed against the glass and snapped back. Muscles trembled. Nerves tingled. Shock tore through his body, his back slamming against a wall.

He looked down. The ooze coated his skin. He winced. So cold.

As the ooze covered his face, Dice opened his mouth to scream. No sound came.

Chapter 2

Dice struggled to keep his mouth closed as he viewed the people around him.

Everybody had waiting-bracelets on. Not at all unusual for a restaurant. However, there were more people than he'd ever seen in one place. How were the computerized waiters managing to get everybody to their tables?

He turned his hearing aid down and read the expressions of the faces around him. Most of them were well-groomed. Arrogant. Flustered they weren't quite well-groomed or arrogant enough to get themselves a better spot on the waiting list.

Dice readjusted the cuffs to his red jacket. Although he'd let his dresser-bot put him in his best outfit, it occurred that he was severely underdressed and underprepared.

"Last time I'll trust a dresser-bot," he muttered to himself.

What was taking the restaurant so long to assign him a waiting bracelet? It had already been fifteen minutes.

He shrugged his shoulders. What did he care? If the waiting room was any indication, the restaurant was just an oversized gimmick. Each wall was adorned in red, white and blue ribbons. Star-spangled flags hung down, sweeping the tops of people's heads. The floor and ceiling were constructed of glass, so holographic bald eagles, fireworks, and models of ancient skyscrapers could emerge at a moment's notice.

A bell chirped behind Dice. He turned and watched a few elevators rise. A stream of people filled into them, awaiting their descent back to the streets. Maybe he should—

"Dice! There you are!"

Professor Cassius waltzed toward Dice with his arms outstretched. The corners of Dice's mouth twitched as he smiled and waved. Cassius looked the same as he ever did. His silver coat billowed behind him, his armored black chest-plate was puffed out with pride, and his white hair was styled into a flowing wave down his back.

Cassius grinned. It was the same knowing grin that had opened and closed lectures in Hawthorne University.

"You still gripping to technology?" asked Dice, monotonously. "Soon enough, you'll go from professor to processor."

Cassius readjusted his belt as he tried to decide if Dice had been joking or serious. Finally, he forced out a chuckle.

"Yes, well— when you're a hundred and fifty, you have no other option but to keep up with the latest technology." Cassius stared into space. "I'm not the most trusting of genetic tampering..."

"Mechanical tampering isn't much better."

Cassius scoffed, and rolled his eyes. He stared at Dice's left ear.

"This is a necessity," Dice said.

Cassius gave a pitying smirk. Dice could only guess what was going through his head.

Cassius was too fond of technology. His left arm, left eye, right leg, and both feet were entirely bionic. Dozens of wires and moving parts were hidden under his thick clothes, to the point where he needed to have a backup generator hooked to his back.

"Anyway, what are you still doing here?" Cassius asked. "I thought I tipped off the waiters to have you at my table thirty minutes ago."

Thirty minutes? But, he'd only been here for ten.

His ears felt hot. He must've arrived twenty minutes late. How could he have let himself miscalculate?

Placing his hand over his mouth to hide his reddening face, he said "Yes, well... It's a crowded place, and you know how these robots work. They can only do their jobs right half the time, if even that."

Professor Cassius put his cold, bionic arm around Dice's shoulder, leading Dice through the crowd and out of the waiting room. A chill ran down Dice's spine at the feel of it.

"Quite a lot of truth in that, my boy," Cassius said, his flesh eye darting about. He pulled his bionic arm behind his back. "These robots... They seem to take every job, and they don't do it half as good as we could. Isn't that right?"

"Exactly. I can work far more efficiently than most of these machines, and yet I've still had to scratch and claw to get a leg up on them. If there were just more sanctions on quantum computing power, and emphasis on our Human Preservation Statutes..."

Cassius' eyes swam around the room as he nodded in agreement. He snatched a glass off a waiter's plate.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to drink this digestive cleanser," he said, turning back to Dice. "I already ate before you arrived."

Cassius stopped to gulp down the liquid. Dice took the time to study the restaurant. The floor and ceiling were covered in the same glass as the waiting room, but the holograms were gaudier. This effect was worsened by the tables and chairs hovering several meters above the ground, leaving every centimeter of floor exposed for the holograms. The only times the tables would ever interfere with the holograms were to let people on or off.

"You like the place?" Cassius asked. He tossed his glass in the air, letting a robotic waiter zoom in to catch it.

The robot zoomed to the aid of another customer while Cassius walked Dice to his table. When the table descended, they each took a seat. Dice tried ignoring the lurch in his stomach as he rose into the air.

"Look down through our table's glass!" Cassius said. "Firework holograms are going off now that we're making our ascent. Isn't that quaint?"

Queasy. That's what it was. Heights always reminded Dice there were things he couldn't control. He closed his eyes and brought his head up.

"So," Dice said, to disguise a deep exhale of air. "Uh... What type of food do they have here?"

The Professor's eyes lit up.

"The finest of American cuisine. Apple pie, donuts, pizza, French fries... Actually, I think that last one might be German. Either way, this place is the perfect encapsulation of American culture. Truly remarkable."

Dice gave a weak nod.

"Still not sure why, but these restaurants are incredibly popular right now," Cassius continued. "Everybody wants to go to these places. Maybe it's the exclusivity? You wouldn't believe what kind of people they turn away from here. The only reason that I'm here is because I — well, I suppose I have 'friends in high places'."

Cassius beamed with pride, but Dice gave a blank stare.

"I'm close friends with the owner," Cassius explained, as his face fell.

"A robot?" Dice asked.

Cassius's eyes lit up again.

"Yes," he said. "He's a really strange fellow, but I've come to find him charming in his own way. How'd you guess?"

"I must've just been lucky..."

A holographic firework went off from the ceiling and projected just over their table. Dice jumped back. He was about to complain, but a waiter hovered over to the table before he could say anything.

"Ah, brilliant!" Cassius said to the waiter. "I love how that effect goes off every time you waiters arrive."

The robot waiter gave a digitized smile.

"Thank you," it said. Two lights turned on in its chest, which then projected holographic menus onto the table. "Now, may I take your order?"

"Why of course. Dice, I'll let you go first."

Dice was supposed to swipe through the holographic menu and choose his meal. Instead, he stared at the waiter through a reflection in the table. The robot was unfit for service, and yet—

"Dice? Are you going to order anything?"

Dice looked up. Cassius was rapping his fingers along the table.

Dice put on a smile.

"You know what Professor Cassius? You've had a chance to get a feel for what's good here. I'll take whatever you're getting."

Cassius gave a brief look of confusion as he tried to study Dice. Rubbing his hands together, he looked up at the waiter.

"Uh... Two apple pies please," he said.

The robot let out a high-pitched ding, and a green check-mark replaced its face.

"Your order is complete. That will be twenty-one radials at the end of the night."

"Just take it out of the account," said Cassius.

The waiter smiled, then flew off. A round of fireworks went off in its wake. Dice's eyes strained to look through them and follow the waiter's neon trail of exhaust. The trail stopped at a metal tube that came through the glass ceiling.

The robots must've been stationed in the floor above them.

"Twenty-one radials?" Dice asked, once finished looking. "That's practically a scam, even for here... You come here often, Professor?"

Cassius gave a sheepish grin and shrugged.

"Often? Not really. But, if I'm being scammed, so be it. The food is good."

Dice felt a pricking annoyance but said nothing.

He honed on the clinks of people setting down glasses, the laughs of people telling jokes, and the chatters of people making lively conversation. There was a leisurely way in which everybody carried themselves, even if their attire maintained a regal air. A part of Dice longed to join in. Just a part. Sitting and observing was still the rational way of conducting himself.

Fireworks went off in front of Dice again. This time, he kept his nerves.

"Your dinner is served," the waiter said in a mechanical warble, before flying back off.

Dice looked at the plate. It was covered in a fist-sized cluster of dry crumbs. His stomach churned. He ignored it and spooned them into his mouth.

"To tell the truth, this is very good," Dice said, with his mouth still full.

He wasn't telling the truth, but it was worth it to keep Cassius happy.

Cassius leaned back in his chair and smiled slyly.

"Very good? Even for food made by a robot?"

Dice raised his hand, as if to signal Cassius had scored a point.

"Yes. Granted, solid food at all isn't exactly my cup of tea..."

Cassius's smile faded, and he scrunched his face.

"You only use your feeding apparatus? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"You know where this food comes from, Professor."

"Renewable materials that help sustain our environment. Yes, I'm aware."

"Stop sugar-coating it."

Dice paused to consider the words he was about to say.

"It's repurposed trash," he said. "Trash that's been processed through various food replicators. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with eating compost, but I prefer to take the liquid supplements that factories produce."

The Professor slammed his metal arm on the table and gave a cold laugh.

"You're another one of those 'supplement purists' aren't you? Never thought I'd ever come across one. Supplements may have helped solve our economic crisis, but they aren't any better for you. Quite the opposite. Tell me that you know that."

"I do. But, I prefer my food made by human factories, rather than partially prepared by robots... Call me eccentric."

"You're eccentric. And, that's coming from me."

Cassius laughed it off as a joke, but his voice had been steel.

Cassius bent down and spooned food into his mouth. Even after he'd started chewing, he took care to keep his face in the food and out of Dice's sight.

It was Dice's move.

"It's been quite some time since I've seen you," he said. He kept his expression reserved and unflinching.

"Indeed, it has," said Cassius, head still bent.

Dice took another good look at the restaurant. Light spilled from every crevice, soft music wafted out of hidden speakers, a rich scent filled the air, and excitement was on everybody's tongue. However, Dice had a greater sense than earlier that he didn't belong. Neither did Cassius. As much as he tried to hide it, he was a tired man. His forehead was matted with wrinkles, wrought from hours of deep thought.

He knew too much to be able to savor the flavor of idleness.

"Why did you bring me here?" Dice asked.

"To have a good meal and a good time."

"Why did you really bring me here?"

Cassius looked up from his plate and gave a dead look into Dice's eyes.

"I have... friends in high places," he said, lowering his voice. "That's how I know about your promotion. I need you to realize that. Now, I'm going to give you advice, and I want you to take it."

Dice nodded and returned the dead look. This was the true Professor — a taste of what he was keeping hidden under his massive cloak, and web of bionic limbs.

The taste left. The Professor closed the dead tunnels in his eyes and leaned back in his chair to resume his carefree persona.

"Waiter," he said, as a robot whizzed by. "I'd like a stimulant injection please. Actually, make that two!"

Cassius watched and laughed as the waiter flew off.

"In the course of my career, I've gained a dislike for quiet people with eyes that wander..." he said. He tried to keep a smile, but his eyes stayed off in the distance. "There's a type of person that succeeds in studying political theory. And, there's a type that fails miserably at it. I saw you as the latter. You would always sit in the back of my lectures, never saying a word to anybody. You never even took notes. And, you certainly didn't do well on the tests. To be frank, I was concerned you'd prove defective."

"Yes. I suppose I wasn't fit to become a politician."

Cassius raised an eyebrow.

"You failed my class on purpose. I know you did."

Dice didn't say a word.

"I was wrong about you. I marked you off as my failure, forgetting you were your own man. But, I'm glad. Every teacher wants to be proven wrong when it comes to the students — the people — that they underestimate."

Cassius stopped, and looked over Dice. There was almost a glint of envy in his eye. Almost.

"I'm not sure how you've gotten where you are, but you did it Dice. You made it! I congratulate you! Now, going forward, you're going to need guidance. Since you have such a unique and valuable skill-set, I believe that you should go into—."

"I know what I'm going into. As you should know full well, I'm going to be working with the police's facial analytics team."

Cassius chuckled.

"You don't want that. Your abilities could be put to much better use in politics, espionage, or various specialized military positions. Simple police work is a complete waste..."

"I'm going into the police, Professor. That's where I was promoted to by Mrs. Paige, and that's where I'll stay."

Cassius let severity leak into his tone. "I've talked to several legislators and officials, Dice. You're currently in mind for other operations. This is not an opportunity that you want to pass up."

Dice cracked and let out a real smile.

"I'm not interested," he said. "I'm interested in going into a field that will garner respect, and work to help people."

"That's great, but I don't see how the other fields I named off won't garner respect, or help others..."

Dice shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you know that the police force is currently the only branch of government with less than 20% reliance on robotized staff?" he asked. "It's among the few lines of work still placing faith in humans to help other humans. Maybe I'm misguided... But, I believe that making a difference there will work to make a positive difference everywhere."

The Professor nodded, giving his knowing look.

"Alright then. I can respect that."

He rolled his eyes back to look at the ceiling, before bringing them back down.

"But, if you're going to do this Dice, let me give you one piece of advice. For your first police case, you need to request permission to participate in the case code-named 'Hamilton Search-Party'. If you can get the case solved — and I'm sure you will — you'll have a major boost to your career."

"I'm not one for parties. If I'm going to get a boost, I'd rather it be on my own terms."

Cassius smiled grimly.

"Trust me, it's no party."

Dice moved in his chair uncomfortably. He'd caught Cassius hiding his bionic arm behind his back and asserting a false confidence in his voice. He was compensating for something. Dice pressed the descend button on his chair.

"Well look at that!" Dice said, glancing at Cassius' watch. "It's 18:00 already. Professor, I need to be going. I appreciate the offers, but it's just not for me."

"Have a good night!" Cassius said, giving a cheery wave. "Your interview with the police concerning the promotion should be in two days. Try to remember what I told you! Okay?"

As Dice descended, he steadily turned to a small silhouette among a mess of holograms. Cassius continued to watch him through the glass. Even when Dice knew that he was out of sight, he could still feel Cassius watching.

Chapter 3:

Dice adjusted himself in his seat. His back stiffened as he attempted to make himself straight and balanced as possible, but he could still feel himself sinking into the cushion.

His back and neck ached. His eye twitched. It was just his luck that a smart-cushion chair had to be in this waiting room.

He watched the clock floating in front of him. Two more minutes until the interview.

"Are you an hour early to everything you go to? Last I checked, this place doesn't have meetings at six in the morning."

A night guard to Dice's right sneered, before resting his feet on his desk. He had puffy eyes and a five O'clock shadow. Would it have killed him to get a mirror?

"It's a job interview... Besides: it can pay to be early," Dice said.

The guard scoffed.

"I start my shift here at midnight, every night, and it pays scraps..."

Dice kept his eyes on the door. At any moment, it could slide open.

"What's with that stupid stone expression on your face? Is that your resting face, or have you just not gotten enough sleep?"

Dice looked at the guard. There were about a dozen things he could say to wipe the smug grin off his face.

He said nothing.

"So, a job interview, huh?" the guard persisted. "Last time I checked, we're ridiculously overstaffed."

Dice took a moment to close his eyes.

"They're thinking of adding me to their facial analytics team."

The guard took his feet from the desk and gave a look of bemusement.

"Facial analytics? I thought that branch was going almost completely to computers..."

"I was thinking the same thing about night guards," Dice said.

The guard glared and pulled his feet off the desk. He stood from his chair. The door to the meeting room slid open.

"Mr. Raymond?" A man in a black bodysuit peaked his head out of the door.

"That's me."

The man motioned to come in, and Dice rolled from his chair. He was tempted to take one last look behind. He couldn't get the guard's last words out of his mind.

A whole branch, completely to computers?

"And how are you doing this fine morning, Mr. Raymond?"

It was a stern looking woman in a crisp bodysuit of her own. She was sitting behind a table, with two people to her left, and another to her right.

"Good."

The room couldn't have been more than half the size of his apartment. Worse yet, it was split by a glass table that stretched from wall to wall. Though, it was at least well-lit and well-equipped. A row of lights ran along the ceiling, cameras lined the walls, and the table had projectors installed along it.

"Very good," the woman said. "I'm Sally Patters, and we four will be conducting your interview this morning."

Mrs. Patters gestured to the man who'd guided Dice into the room. He nodded, and left through the door he and Dice had entered in.

"Take a seat."

Mrs. Patters kept her eye on Dice until he was settled. He saw the way her eyes glinted. He was a rat in a cage. Though, after staring at her a moment longer, she diverted her eyes. He wasn't the only caged rat in the room. A man to the left's hand was fidgeting. A woman to the right covered her mouth. And, the other man to Mrs. Patters’ left...

His heart stopped. Mrs. Patters was glowering over him again. She'd caught him trying to read everybody. He shifted, trying to make himself comfortable. Maybe the smart-cushion chairs in the waiting room hadn't been so bad after all.

"I apologize in advance if this interview is a bit unorthodox," Mrs. Patters said.

Dice nodded.

"We've taken a second look at your resume. It appears there was a mistake in our system. I'll contend you have a strong skillset, you have a unique background, and your employer, Mrs. Paige, had a lot of excellent things to say. However, your resume suggests that you're somewhat less qualified than we might want..."

A man to her left cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, but we're not interested in employing you. Your performances on our tests were phenomenal, but it's simply that—."

Mrs. Patters cut him off.

"Here at the Monterey District Police Force, we accept only the highest caliber of individuals. People who've undergone years of rigorous training and proven their mettle. Understand: in our line of work, we're expected to protect the U.R.O from all potential dangers. We need people who are prepared to give us results. I know what you can do, Mr. Raymond... But why should we believe that you are prepared to do it when the cards are down?"

Dice let his muscles relax and pulled himself back in his chair. He took another moment to run his eyes across the people in front of him, paying extra attention to the way that each person was breathing. Sitting. Looking. They might've all been staring at him, but he could stare into them.

"You've been taking neural-stimulants," Dice said, giving a gesture to the man on the far left. "I can tell by the slackening of your jaw, and the slight twitching of your right eye. You seem to have good control over it, though... Have you been up for four hours prior to this meeting?"

The man's face reddened.

"You have a metal lung," Dice continued, to the other man to the left. "Your breathing is uncannily consistent. And, you keep your arms too tight to your chest. You must've had a recent rib injury. I wonder what type of accident led to that..."

Dice swiveled to the woman on the right.

"You spilled oil on top of yourself before coming here," Dice said. "There's a hint of a grease stain on the black of your suit. And, there's only one reason why you'd need oil... Are you harboring illegal electronics?"

Everybody in the room had gone still. The fear in their eyes was palpable.

"And you," Dice said, turning to Mrs. Patters. She stared at him coldly. "I believe that you have your answer."

The corner of Mrs. Patters' lip curved upward.

"Well," she said. "That was certainly impressive. Granted, I'm not sure if it was quite the answer I was looking for."

She took a glance at each of her partners, as if to reaffirm what she was about to say.

"However... You're just as impressive as Mrs. Paige said. I don't believe we can afford to lose you. If you go through a bit more testing, I'm sure we could find a position for you in file organization, computer interface upkeep, and fact-checking. As your history with computer engineering suggests, you'd excel in those positions."

The confidence drained from Dice's chest. Filing? Interface upkeep? Fact checking? That was almost a demotion from his former position.

"That sounds like an idea," Dice said, trying to hide his disappointment.

The curve of Mrs. Patters' lip spread into a smile.

"Yes."

She stared at him. Dice stared back. There was an itch in the back of his mind. She was hiding something. Dangling it right out of his reach. The room spun as he tried to figure it out.

The spinning stopped.

"Mrs. Patters," Dice said, looking at his reflection in the table. "Have you, by any chance, met Professor Cassius?"

He brought his eyes back from his reflection and to Mrs. Patters. She made a sly grin.

"I can't say that I have," she said, cryptically.

Dice tilted his head and mimicked the grin.

"Well, he's close friends with me, and the chief of the Monterey District's police force."

He stopped himself. Did he really want to say what he was about to?

He considered his situation. He was drowning. Professor Cassius must've seen to it that this interview would fail, unless Dice said the right words.

"I know you need somebody working the computer interfaces, but Professor Cassius informed me you needed aid in facial analytics on a new case," Dice said, slowly. "Pardon if I'm misremembering, but I believe it was the 'Hamilton Search Party'?"

Dice measured their reactions. There wasn't a hint of shock on anybody's face. It was as if they'd expected him to bring it up. But then... They had.

"Do you think I would be a good fit for that position?" Dice asked.

Mrs. Patters sifted through files on her monitor, and then clapped her hands.

"Yes, that would be a perfect position. We have that spot open right now, in fact."

Her tone took a complete reversal. Her posture relaxed, her voice was cheery, and her eyes went from sallow to wide.

"I wonder why I hadn't thought of it before," she continued. "We lost our human analyst not even a week ago, and we're in desperate need to have somebody fill their place. Despite the accuracy of our computers, we still face criticism for relying 'too much' on them. I'm not sure if you've seen the recent riots, but there's a certain amount of unrest..."

Dice offered a look of understanding.

"Besides," Mrs. Patters said, "with the Hamilton Search Party case, having a human set of eyes won't just be a benefit. I think it'll be a necessity."

She turned to the interviewers on both sides of her, and they nodded in agreement.

"Yes, he sounds like just the man we need," said a man on the left. "It's been quite some time since I've felt so confident about an interviewee."

"Alright then," Mrs. Patters said. "Congratulations. You have the job."

Dice felt the tension in his muscles lift. He could breathe again.

"Excellent," said Dice. "What's the starting wage, and when will the start date be?"

Mrs. Patters looked straight through Dice.

"Your starting wage will be two radials an hour. We'll have you start in a week," she said.

Dice's eyes widened.

"A week?"

"I apologize for the wait..." said Mrs. Patters. "But, I'm afraid this job switchover won't have the benefit of automated robots. There's more paperwork and hoops for us to go through."

"Pardon me: I can't see how that is. I managed to switch a job within six hours once. I'm a big believer in an efficient work environment."

Mrs. Patters' eyes darted around.

"Well, you'll be a bigger believer in this: we're going to relocate you to Diggle Street so you'll be closer to the lead we have on the Hamilton Search Party. As much as we might like, we simply can't do that for you in less than a week."

Dice felt another itch in the back of his mind. There shouldn't have been any reason to be relocated over a simple facial analytics position, let alone a relocation handled directly by the MDPD. However, Mrs. Patters' expression was blank.

"A week it is," Dice said, with a false smile. He outstretched his hand and shook the hand of each interviewer. "Thanks for the position. I look forward to when I start!"

Dice shook Mrs. Patters' hand last.

"I look forward to having you on our force," Mrs. Patters said.

She stood from her chair and leaned over the table.

"In the next few days, we'll send you the address for your new apartment. In a week, you'll be expected to return here to report to Deputy Haynam."

"I'll be working closely with people?"

Mrs. Patters laughed.

"No. Your personal profile suggests you're better off working alone. You'll just be working with Deputy Haynam... And even that should be constricted to mostly electronic communications."

Dice frowned but said nothing.

"Oh, and one more thing..."

Mrs. Patters pulled a badge out of her sleeve and slid it across the table. It was a thin piece of platinum, formed into the shape of a diamond. There was a wreath stamped into the center of it. Above the wreath were the letters "United Republic of Octavian", and under the wreath were the words "Monterey District Police Department". As Dice flipped it over, he saw an electromagnet lining it so it could attach to any piece of clothing.

"That's a pretty powerful magnet," Dice said.

"It's yours," said Mrs. Patters. "In due time, 'pretty powerful' is something you'll be saying a lot. Call the magnet overkill, but we don't want anybody losing their badges. You'll receive the uniform that goes with it in a week, when you report back to this station."

Dice’s head was brimming with questions. Somehow, he managed to pocket the badge and give an "okay."

"I suppose that concludes our interview," said Mrs. Patters. "I enjoyed having you, Mr. Raymond. Whatever you do, don't fail on me! I expect great things!"

She laughed, but Dice gave a stiff nod.

"I'll make sure I exceed your expectations."

He made a swipe goodbye and sped out the door. However, his pace slowed as he reached the exit. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he waved his badge in the air. He put the badge back and left with a smug grin.

He didn't need to look back to know the expression on the night guard's face.

Chapter 4:

A beam of sunlight shyly peeked out of the clouds, draping a warm sheen over a donut of a building. Dice hugged his briefcase, taking in the air. It smelled like nature... Trees. There must've been a filtration device tucked in the ground somewhere. He turned his hearing aid up and listened for one. All he picked up was a steady beeping.

It was probably the transport tube going over schedule, to still let people on. It always took forever for transport tubes to fill up. If only they were run more efficiently.

He made his way up a conveyer belt, and toward the row of entrance doors. A holographic banner hung over them — Monterey District Computing Center. Dice smiled. He was finally back in his element. It had been too long since his last trip to the computing center — a place with processing power eclipsing Dice’s wildest dreams.

Granted, the center was generally too crowded and expensive to be worth his trouble. His apartment’s projector was usually sufficient.

Usually...

There was a bigger reason Dice avoided the center: it only had robots on staff. Something about that always crept under his skin.

However, none of that mattered right then. His home computer was dead. Besides: after getting his promotion, he'd earned a trip to the computing facility.

He put his hand to a scanner and waited for the door to open.

"Access Denied."

Dice scowled. It didn't make any sense. It always worked before.

Maybe the scanner misread his handprint.

"Access Denied."

He tried peering through the window of the door, but it was tinted black. He could only make out blurry silhouettes, and even those were questionable.

He rapped on the window a few times. Finally, a door to his left slid open, and a woman's head poked out.

"I'm sorry sir, but we're closing down the computing center for the day," she said.

Her neck was tense. Her hair was wild. Her knuckles turned white as they clutched the edge of the door.

"According to the schedule, you should be letting people in," Dice said, putting on a smile.

"Yes, well... Things come up. I really don't have the time to explain."

This had to happen on the one day he gave himself time to slack off. Just his luck.

There was a crash. A shout. Dice ran toward the woman's door.

"No, no, no," the woman said, raising her hand.

She leaned inward and pressed a button on the inside. Lunging forward, Dice grabbed the edge of the door just as it was sliding closed.

"Wait," he said.

He whipped his badge out of his pocket. A twinge of guilt shot through his hand as he held it up. However, what was he supposed to do? He couldn't just ignore the chaos, could he?

The woman's face softened.

"Oh, thank god," she said. "Was it one of our staff who called you? Or was it our — customers — who called you?"

"Not sure," said Dice. His eye twitched. "Whoever sent out the message... They masked their identity. They definitely told us to come here though. The rest of my squad will arrive soon."

He rubbed his eye. The MDPD better have been coming.

"So, what's going wrong, exactly?" He strode through the entrance.

"They didn't tell you?"

"Uh... It has something to do with a rogue computer, or something of that kind. Is that correct?"

The woman's eyes widened, and she shook her head.

"It must've been one of our customers who called you," she said.

Her eyes fell to the floor, and she shook her head. Guilt? Retrieving a memory?

"Anyway, the answer to your question is yes... And no."

Both.

"A couple of days ago, one of the robots went rogue. Its circuitry was fried. It went berserk and attacked a customer. U.R.O authorities were eventually called in to dismantle it. I thought that we'd taken care of the problem, but..."

Dice winced. Of course — another story of a malfunctioning robot. What else was new?

"However, today a group of people came to protest. The whole center is being raided."

"That's, uh... That's terrible."

The woman squinted and studied Dice's bodysuit.

"You're prepared to clear up this catastrophe, right?"

It struck Dice he had no weapons of any kind. A lump formed in his throat. His head ached. He was way out of his depth.

A blue light dashed across the wall. A red light. Blue. Red. A siren wailed.

"Well, look at that," Dice said, taking a glance behind. "Backup finally arrived."

He nodded firmly.

"Yes, it seems like everything should be under control. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and size up the scene."

Dice ran down the passageway, to the main computing area. The further he went, the louder the crashes. The shouts. He brought his hand to his ear and turned down his hearing aid.

A robot flew into the passageway, ricocheting between the walls. Dice ducked as it rocketed past him and crashed into the ceiling. Plaster flurried, leaving Dice leaning against a dented wall in a fit of coughs. As he regained his footing, a man with bloodshot eyes ran through the passageway. His right hand was clutching the sleeve of his left arm. An oddly shaped left sleeve, at that.

He had a smuggled blaster.

"Stop!" Dice said, holding his badge out.

A blast hurled toward Dice, narrowly missing. Eyes wide, Dice sprinted past the man and down the passageway. Several more people went by, brandishing weapons. Dice didn't stop. This wasn't where he needed to be.

"Hey! Watch it!"

Dice raised his hands and took a step back.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to crash into you. I was just trying to get to—."

The main computing hall. He'd made it.

But... it was entirely alien to how he knew it.

Robots flew everywhere, eyes red with rage. A few of them carried people loosely in their grip, looking as though they'd drop them from the slightest shift. Meanwhile, people on the ground shot illegal blasters at the robots. Others tore at robots with crude metal bars and kicked dents into the computers. Still, others marched in long lines, chanting, "Death to robots. Preserve humanity."

Dice wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked up. The ceiling glowed orange, a fire lapping at its corners.

Nausea set over him. The situation was already beyond hope.

He turned around. Where was the exit? Everywhere he looked were people and robots. They all had the same expression on their faces: fury.

It was a madhouse. He was part of it.

There was a screech. A holographic flare went off in the air. For a moment, the room gave pause.

"I'm Chief Grisham, of the Monterey District Police Department. I'm going to count to three, and I want everybody to start clearing out! We're not going to give another warning."

The crowd somehow went more vicious than before, scrambling for the exit. At least, that seemed what they were doing. Although everybody was headed to the same place, they ran in different directions.

A robot fell in front of Dice. It was covered in gouges, and several wires were torn out. Though, it still had a blaze in its eye. Without a second thought, Dice grabbed a metal rod from the ground and slammed it down. Despite his hearing aid being low, an ear-piercing shatter resonated as the robot broke into a dozen pieces.

His ears went hot. What had he done?

He studied the parts. A fresh processor. Extra springs. Nuts. Bolts. Fans. Everything going in a robot's body laid out for him, to read without any confusion.

Maybe what he'd done hadn't been so bad after all.

He flipped open his briefcase, scooped up as many parts as he could, and charged for the door.

. . .

There was a blur as skyscrapers and people whooshed by. A soft hum. Pitch black. Quiet.

Dice lurched forward, then sat back in his seat. The transport tube came to a stop. Yet, it wasn't followed by the familiar rush of adrenaline. The door opened, prompting him to stand up. It was routine. Tedious.

He hauled himself from his seat, turned his hearing aid down, and trudged through a maze of people. Lights blinked. Robots whizzed overhead. Faces of all kinds streamed by. Dice didn't bother looking at any of it. He needed to get to his apartment's capsule transmitter.

Escaping the crowd and rubbing a fresh bruise on his neck, he turned his hearing aid back up. The elevator’s wall went up. He stepped in. Gears and servos spun as the hydraulics let off steam. His stomach moaned as he was launched into the air.

For some reason, the mechanical language he'd spent so much time trying to understand seemed like gibberish. Maybe it always had been.

The elevator creaked open. It creaked shut. Dice was left to his hall. He felt his face fall. As he passed his wall of trophies, he knocked them down one by one. Each time was followed by the cold clang of metal on metal. Each time, Dice didn't flinch.

Once the trophies were scattered, Dice snapped his fingers. The hall’s lights went out. The trophies were gone. There was only darkness.

He entered his room, where a warm. white glow greeted him. Why was everything suddenly so bland? So barren? The room was just a collection of blank metal walls. Dice stared at them. Maybe he could escape them. Enter a daydream.

As drowsiness set over him, his eyes drifted from the walls. The computer projector remained in the same condition it’d been for the past three days — charred and steaming from overuse. Rewiring it hadn't worked. There were no replacement parts.

He glanced at his briefcase. There had been no replacement parts. Now though?

The briefcase flipped open, and metal parts tumbled out. An eye, a backup generator, a spare arm, a quantum processor. Dice smirked.

Maybe a new processor was all that the projector needed. If he just replaced the old one, the projector might just work good as new...

No. He couldn't push the projector any further.

He tried pulling his eyes away but could practically hear the projector whirring to life and activating the training program. He rubbed his forehead. His shoulders slumped.

He straightened himself, opened a panel in the floor, and pulled out his tools. He slipped on a pair of rubber gloves.

An incision was made in the back of the projector. There were a few minutes of carefully peeling away rusted parts, in a delicate strategy to reach a center. Once he finally had, he removed the processor. Cradling it in his hands and looking it over, it occurred to Dice that this had been its brain. Every thought and input of the projector’s, summed up by this sole object.

It was fried to a crisp.

Dice inserted the new processor.

"Computer! Code: refraction. Activate program: trial simulation delta."

The computer projector fizzled and flickered on. Pupils dilating, Dice clenched his jaw. A virus simulation opened. Dice swiped past it with ease. Several more simulations swiped by, with no difference in difficulty from the first. The projector couldn't compete with him. His mind was too sharp.

The projector groaned from overuse only ten minutes in.

Dice's concentration dissipated. He shut off the projector with a sigh and paced around the room.

He could've sworn he'd accounted for every part. He racked his brain for what else might've gone wrong, but to no avail.

He should've been able to isolate the source of the problems. Another computer could've done it. Why couldn't he?

He took out his badge and smiled thinly. His finger ran over its platinum polish. At least he still had this. It was everything he'd worked for. Everything he'd wanted.

His eyes drifted back to the blank walls.

"I thought that branch was going entirely to computers."

He shook his head, closed his eyes, and ran his hand through his hair. He could've sworn he saw Mrs. Patters' and the night guard's faces staring into him.

"Just the stress getting to you," he muttered. "Worried about the move... That's all."

He rubbed away a bit of ash that had smudged his badge.

"This move isn't going to be so bad. There'll be new people, new things to see, new opportunities... And a new computer."

The projector sparked.

"Now, here's hoping that I don't break the new one too..."

He forced a laugh.

His eyes drifted around the room again. His eyelids became heavy. He placed his hand over his mouth as he held back a yawn.

Walking over to the left wall, he activated a panel. A glass sleep-tube slid out.

Dice popped the top hatch open and rolled himself onto the mattress. As he closed his eyes, he ran his fingers along his badge.

"New beginnings," he whispered

Saying the words aloud should've made them more convincing. They were just as hollow as they'd been in his head. He pocketed his badge and rolled onto his side.

"Computer: set the sleep tube to three days."

The lid closed. The tube returned to its panel in the wall and steamed with a gas. Dice slipped into a deep slumber.

. . .

Dice sputtered. He looked down. An oily tube was connected to his stomach, pulsating as it pumped in and out.

He tried to move. He couldn't feel his arms or legs. Only a slight tingle at the tips of his hands and feet. He squinted. There was a red light above his head, burning into him. He clenched his teeth and moaned. His stomach was inside out.

Out. There had to be a way out. Though, everywhere he looked there was only blackness, with a slight hint of metal tinting its edges.

"Help!" Dice shouted.

A pair of eyes flashed in the darkness.

"Help!"

They were gone.

. . .

Dice uploaded his computer projector's database to a cloud file and reset it.

He clapped his hands and turned.

His clothes were vacuum sealed in his suitcase. His trophies were in a box to be taken by a moving bot. The damaged projector was scheduled to be removed by a trash bot.

Pretty much everything.

He took in a deep breath and checked the watch on his bodysuit. Four minutes. Good time, but not great.

After a snap of the fingers, he placed his hand on his door's scanner. The lights to his apartment shut off as he entered his elevator.

Dice's heart pounded. He bit his lip. Four minutes should've still left him with enough time to catch the early transport tube.

Right?

The capsule opened. Dice darted his way through a mass of people, while his eyes darted to avoid catching the eyes of anybody. Despite this, he managed to catch somebody with a fastened jaw and heavy scowl.

He sped past them. He couldn't afford to miss his seat on the transport tube. Besides: it was probably nothing.

"Hey, buddy! You look like you're from the Kelvin Union. You smuggle yourself over here?"

Desperate shouts sliced through Dice's ears. He muted his hearing aid.

The doors to the transport tube were just starting to close when Dice stuck his foot in. Chirping, their sensors kicked on and they reopened. There was shoving and grunting from others as he made his way to the back row. The doors closed and the city whizzed by.

He'd finally made it.

"Destination reached: Diggle Street."

Dice narrowed his eyes, while clutching his briefcase and made his way toward the exit. It was dark out. Why was it dark out?

He caught a few people casting pitying looks toward him.

As Dice stepped into the street and the transport tube rushed away, he saw the reason behind the pitying looks.

He couldn't see. A thick steam rose from rows of rusted grates in the ground, shrouding everything. Dice made his way past the grates. The neighborhood was cluttered in heaps of scraps. The crowds of people he'd been accustomed to navigating through were gone. In their place were robots that puttered close to the ground. Dice looked up. The sky had been replaced by a ceiling of crude, iron beams. This had to be a mistake.

Dice wiped the sweat from his forehead. The steam was killing him. He felt his bodysuit cling to his skin.

"A 'calculator cage'... Perfect. Just perfect."

He squinted to read the numbers on each apartment as he walked down the street. The street glared with red lights, which all hung from the iron ceiling. Worse were the glowing lights beneath Dice's feet, no doubt lighting up another calculator cage.

As the numbers drew closer to his apartment's address, holograms crackled in front of him.

"Genetic enhancer!" "Bionic eyes!" "Improved generator at half price!"

"110010 01010000 01100101 01110010 01100011 01100101 01101110 01110100 01101111 01100110 01100110."

Dice was tempted to lift scraps from the ground and use them to smash the hidden projectors.

The holograms stopped once he'd reached his new apartment address: 3000. He inserted his fingerprint and entered his assigned password. Nothing happened.

There was a screech. An elevator descended. Though, it was nothing like the elevator he was used to riding. Rather than being an egg, it was a loosely-built cube. Dice entered to find loose wires and gears hanging out of open cracks. He looked for seat but only found a row of screw-holes in the floor, where seats should've been.

The capsule shrieked as it jerked to a stop. The doors slid open. Dice's jaw slid open. His apartment's entrance was two meters in the air. The capsule must've stalled right before it'd reached it.

He threw his suitcase into his entrance. With a jump, he clung to the entrance's ledge and shimmied his body onto it. Just as he finished, the door to his apartment slammed down. Dice couldn't tell if he had perfect timing, or if the sensors for the door was dangerously quick.

He didn't want the answer.

The elevator shrieked as it descended toward its next victim.

Dice picked himself up and studied his apartment. The hall and main room were the same as that of his last, but the walls were covered in dents, layers of rust, and grime. The only things of note were his new computer projector, which looked about a decade out of date, and—

"A window," Dice said. "That's something, at least."

Dice peered through it to see the view. His heart sank. There was only a cloud of steam and a penetrating red light.

"Computer: close the window."

A metal panel rumbled, curtaining over the window. Dice unlocked his suitcase, used his foot to open a panel in the floor, and dumped his clothes into it.

"Computer: organize clothing."

"Affirmative. Anything else that you'd like help with, Mr. Raymond Dice?"

Dice made a frown. "No."

The station must've entered his name in backward during the transfer. Was there anything that could go right?

Dice leaned on the wall. Maybe he should open the couch.

No. There was no need. He was fine as he was.

The computer's mechanical arms cranked under his feet as it organized his clothes. Couldn't he have done the job faster himself?

The shriek of the elevator returned. A chill ran down Dice's spine.

"Is the moving bot already here?"

He went over to the door and checked the camera-feed. Nothing. Dice put his fingerprint in his door's scanner and entered the password to unlock it. The door flew open — Dice found himself staring at a tangle of chords and wires. The capsule had stalled just before reaching his floor again.

"Surprise!"

It was a robot. He could tell by the way the voice grated against itself, like a bucket of loose screws. It must've hidden just out of the camera's view.

"What?" Dice asked.

Squinting his eyes, he tried to get a closer look in the gap between his floor and the elevator.

"Surprise! You just moved, didn't you?"

Dice stopped squinting.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, that's me. If you'd like I can crawl into the elevator and collect my belongings."

"What?"

"You're the robot mover, aren't you?" Dice asked.

The robot's voice turned to a high-pitched scrape. "No. Robot movers are low-level labor. Are you insinuating—."

"Then what are you doing here?" Dice asked.

"You are the new neighbor. I came here to welcome you to our neighborhood."

There was a thud as the robot hit the gap between the capsule and the floor.

"If it is no trouble, may I have your assistance?" the robot asked.

Dice brought his hands to the door's keypad and typed his password.

"It's far too much trouble, actually," Dice said. "To be frank, I'm all worn out from welcomes. So many people greeting me, so little time..."

"Understood," the robot said, still flying upward to bash its barrel frame into the ceiling. "Well, welcome. By the way, what is your name? My name is Model 291168..."

"That's great," Dice said, interrupting him again. "My name is—."

Dice didn't finish his sentence. The door shut, the chamber shrieked as it was sent away, and Dice walked back to his room.

"Brilliant," he said to himself. "Hours of work and persistence, and I get relocated to a calculator cage. A calculator cage!"

He chuckled at the insanity of it all.

"I hope that I don't have to see that robot again... Awful machines."

He needed to clear his head.

He went to his computer projector. There were tests that needed to be done.

. . .

Dice woke up in a cold sweat. At least, he thought he'd woken up. Yet, no matter where he looked all he could see was black. He tried closing his eyes and reopening them. The blackness was still there.

He winced. Old memories and nightmares flashed before his eyes. This couldn't have been a nightmare though. Could it?

Dice lifted his arms and felt around. He winced. His arms were still sore from his nightly sedative gas and electric muscle-stimulators.

The sleeping tube's glass lid felt the same as normal. He knocked on it. It sounded the same.

He pulled his arms down and stared into the darkness. It didn't make any sense. He'd never woken up in mid-sleep before. He'd never even thought it possible.

There was a noise. It was so slight he'd barely noticed it at first. Dice slowly turned up his hearing aid. The noise became louder. More persistent. More invasive.

It was a sharp hissing. Dice's heart hammered in his chest. He kept listening. About a minute in, he realized what he was hearing.

"The sedative filter..." he said to himself. "It must've popped out of place in my sleep."

Dice's face flushed with relief.

The relief fled. He was still stuck in a tube, in the dark, and couldn't sleep.

Hyperventilating, terrible nightmares came back to him. Terrible, terrible nightmares.

He tried telling himself the tube would open once the night was over, but it was paper-thin reassurance. There was no telling how long it would be before the night would end. He wasn't even sure if the sleeping tube would still be working once it did.

Dice banged on the glass.

"Computer!" he shouted. "Computer, deactivate sleeping tube!"

There was no response.

"Computer, deactivate sleeping tube!"

His face turned blotchy. Sweat formed on his forehead. Fear shot up and down his spine. His hands trembled as they were drawn to the badge in his pocket. He pulled it out and rammed its edge into the glass lid. It didn't even leave a scratch.

"Too strong," he muttered to himself. "Think. Think..."

He hit the roof two more times. Still no difference.

Wasn't there a button in the side of his tube though? Dice felt around until he found the place where the button would've been. He pressed his badge onto it. He pressed his thumb on the wreath imprinted in the badge's center, turning on the electromagnet.

There was a fizzle from the other side of the glass, followed by a loud beep.

"Error detected," the computer said in a muffled voice. "Sleeping tube offline."

Dice sighed as the tube rumbled out of its panel and onto the floor of the main room. The tube's lid flipped open and light spilled into Dice's eyes. Dice spilled out of the tube. He was groggy eyed, still weak from shock, and disoriented by the latent effects of his sedatives.

He'd never felt so good rolling out of bed before.

"Computer: time," he asked.

"2:33," the computer answered.

Dice put his head in his hands. It was nowhere near time for him to start his day. Though, after taking a second glance at his sleeping tube's mattress, he knew he had no other option.

He entered his password on his door's keypad and listened to the shriek of the capsule as it came to his floor.

"I need to scope the place out anyway..."

The shrieking stopped. Dice's door slid open. Dice felt sick inside. All the breath in his lungs had been sucked out of him. He was suddenly acutely aware of just how weak he really felt.

The capsule had stalled. Perched on top was a woman. She was dressed in a ragged bodysuit, and her hair was a long, black mop. Dice couldn't make much more out, because she sat huddled in the dark corner, shrouded by wires. What was unmistakable though were her eyes. They were unusually large, with fierce gray pupils at the center. When she looked at Dice, he felt as though he were being dissected.

Dice pressed the buttons on the keypad as quickly as he could, but his fingers had turned to rubber. He looked back to the woman, expecting her to say something. She said nothing. Dice tried to look away and found that he couldn't. He was used to being glued to other people's faces, but this time was different. He felt trapped.

When the door finally closed with a clang and the chamber shrieked back to its place, Dice still couldn't get the eyes out of his head. He tried to convince himself it was a dream. No amount of convincing could've worked.

Dice ran to his room and rolled back onto the mattress of his bed. He stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night. All he could see were the eyes.

Chapter 5:

Dice looked at the calendar on his projector. Three days. It had been three days since he'd last left his apartment.

Good. He'd been far too busy and there was still much to do. He hadn't even finished revamping his computer projector.

Still, despite all the things left, he'd managed to get a lot done. He smiled. The sleeping tube was fully functional again, a massage feature had been installed into his couch, and the panels in his floor had been reprogrammed to turn into a giant, digitized chess board.

The chess board was his proudest achievement. He would move from square to square, strategically moving each piece. He could beat most games within a span of fifteen minutes, but the thrill of those fifteen minutes was enough to keep him going for another game. It wasn't as stimulating as working through a computer virus gambit, but it was sufficient enough.

There was hardly a point in leaving his apartment, in his eyes.

Eyes... Gray, piercing eyes.

Dice trembled. His eyes flitted back to his monitor.

It chirped, and a message appeared in the corner: "Report to Deputy Haynam at the Monterey District Police Station."

Just when he thought he'd make it four days.

Begrudgingly, Dice started his daily routine. His body was doused in a disinfecting spray, a fresh pair of clothes was fitted onto him, his unruly hair was tamed, and his mouth was sanitized.

He sat in his kitchen chair and hooked himself up to the respirator of his feeding apparatus. He untangled his arm from the three tubes feeding through it and turned a dial on the side of the mask. The largest of the three tubes pushed itself into his mouth, as a purple paste pumped through it. The two smaller tubes disconnected from the respirator and went into Dice's nostrils, pumping air into his lungs.

Dice closed his eyes, steadily swallowing the paste. His chest rose and fell with the purr of the respirator. The apparatus was in more control of Dice's breathing and swallowing than he was. It was as if he'd entered another sleep-state.

The respirator stopped pumping. Dice turned the dial back. The tubes shifted back in place, and the respirator reeled itself into the apparatus.

Dice went to his door and punched his password into the keypad. His eye twitched. His ears went hot. A shriek wriggled its way from under the door. There was nobody on the capsule transmitter when it came up. There was nobody on it as it came down. Yet, he still glanced to his side every so often, as if he might find somebody standing there. Watching him.

Dice checked his bodysuit's watch as he made his way to the transport tubes. It was still only 6:00 — ahead of schedule.

Dice went stone-faced as he ran through the words that he should say, the things he should do, and the gestures he should make.

He stopped. A robot was blocking his path.

"Excuse me," Dice said.

"Sorry about — wait, you're the new neighbor, aren't you?"

Dice's eyes widened as he looked down. While he wasn't certain, the robot looked identical to the one he'd seen just a few nights ago.

"I have a transport tube to catch," Dice said. "I don't have time to chat."

Dice pushed past it and sped up his pace.

"Why don't you set up a time for when you do?" the robot asked, puttering after him. "I apologize for persisting interruptions, but —"

"Apologies seem to be a theme this morning, don't they?" Dice said, sharply.

"That is certainly a pattern in our interactions," the robot said. "Anyway, homo sapiens are very rare in this sector of the Monterey District. I feel it's my responsibility to ensure that you're properly integrated into our community. How would lunch work?"

"Sorry, but I think I've integrated just fine. Besides: I won't be back until this evening. Too much to do."

There was a rush of air as the transport tube opened. Dice brushed off his bodysuit and hunched down.

"Well, I really need to—"

"This evening then?" the robot interrupted.

"No time then, either," Dice said, stepping into the transport car.

"But, you just said that you'd be back this evening. Logic dictates that you should have plenty of time this evening. This doesn't compute."

"I, umm," Dice said, desperately searching for the right words. People were staring at him. Waiting for him to find a seat. The robot wasn't letting the door close.

"Fine. This evening, I'll go to dinner."

He rushed away to his seat, but the robot still called after him.

"I'll be at your apartment room tonight to pick you up!" it said. "By the way: I still haven't caught your na—."

The transport tube door closed. Tension left Dice's shoulders as he took his seat in the back row.

…

Sun-drenched skyscrapers crowded the window. At first glance, they were a randomized mess. Though, as Dice studied them, he caught glimpses of delicate archways and tubes linking them all together. They morphed into something calculated. Uniform. He smirked inwardly.

A spire tower loomed ahead of him. It was taller and thinner than the rest, resembling a thimble. Though, its perceived lack of structural integrity made up for by a thick wall hugging its base.

The transport tube slowed, and Dice's eyes widened. It must've been the police station.

There was a jerk as the transport tube stopped.

"At this time, we request you show your authorization for entry and identification. Please remain seated."

A robot hovered through the crowd of people, scanning them and escorting those without authorization through the exit. When the robot reached Dice, he lifted his badge and ID card. The robot gave a smile and flew off. The gate to the police station rumbled, and Dice's seat shuddered as the tube's engine kicked back on.

Dice stepped off into a garage. Dozens of police hover drones lined the walls. Jet-black arrowheads. A memory of one hovering over his apartment building flashed through his mind. Programmed to monitor the district, the drones were semi-sentient machines. They also doubled as modes of transportation for the police.

How hard was it to ride one of them, anyway?

Dice looked one over. The paint didn't have so much as a scratch, the glass was polished smooth, and the exhaust port didn't have a hint of residue on it. Flawless. Had it even been used before? He reached his hand out.

"Don't touch that. How'd you even get in here?"

Dice turned around. A balding man, squeezed into a police bodysuit, walked toward him with his badge held out.

"I said don't touch that: it's police property," the man said, raising his voice.

Dice lifted his own badge from his pocket.

"I believe that I'm police property as well."

The man snickered. A tint of red flushed into his cheeks.

"Sorry. You must be the new guy!" the man said. "Dice... Dice Raymond?"

He held out his hand. Dice took it and gave it a weak shake.

"That's me," Dice said. "And, you are?"

"Oh! I'm Haynam. Deputy Haynam."

He gave a slick grin. Too slick. Dice didn't return it.

"I was tasked to introduce you to the place, and give you your first assignment," Haynam said, before stopping to chuckle. "Well, that was definitely one way to introduce you to the place, huh?"

"Definitely."

Haynam's let his chuckle die off and cleared his throat.

"I guess that'll be your first lesson here. Don't touch the drones. I don't like the idea of anybody scratching my babies up. And now, for your next lesson... Follow me."

Haynam made his way through the garage, whistling and bobbing his head as he went. Dice stayed close behind. As Haynam broke into a subtle step-dance though, Dice's eyes wandered toward people who walked by. They were primarily mechanics and maintenance workers, but there were also a few officers. The officers were what stole his attention. A wariness lined their mouths and weighed down their eyes. Each one moved swiftly as they hopped into their drones and fled through a gaping tunnel in the garage.

Despite their swift movements, their eyes had been half-closed.

"Hey, Raymond."

Haynam whistled.

"Your ass should be over here."

He was already a few meters ahead.

"And close your jaw. This garage is nothing to scoff at."

Dice entered a locker room. Dozens of officers shuffled around, opening and closing their lockers. Some of them were busy adjusting and readjusting their uniforms, while others made a mad scramble toward an exit at the far back.

"Starting my day in the department's locker room," Haynam said, with a laugh. "Just how I like it!"

Haynam sped between several officers. Dice's eyes swam. He squeezed around somebody and ducked as one of the locker doors nearly swung in his face.

Dice gasped once he was back at Haynam's side. Haynam had a wry smirk on his face.

"Lesson two," Haynam said, raising his voice above the raucous. "Show up early every morning. Or else, you'll get caught in this mess."

"I showed up half an hour early."

"Not early enough. Be an hour early. Any later, and you're late in my book."

Haynam's eyes jumped between the numbers of each locker. He stopped when he reached locker number 293 and punched in a code. The door popped open. Haynam reached in, pulled out something, and then threw it at Dice's head. It moved in a blur, but Dice still caught it just in time.

"Nice reflexes," Haynam said, his eyes slightly widening. He blinked. "Now, put it on."

Dice turned it over. It was his police bodysuit, folded into a neat square. Dice held it up by its sleeves, let it unfold, and looked it over. It was a made a dark blue metal mesh. A black strip lined the legs and sleeves. Around the torso there was a thin layer of black armor, with an outline for the badge on the left chest plate.

"Can't stare at it forever, Raymond. This isn't a fashion show."

Dice pulled his badge out of his pocket. He grabbed his suit, pulled his legs through the baggy neck hole, and put his arms through the sleeves. While he spread his arms and legs out, the bodysuits mesh buzzed and tightened. Once it had fit itself snugly around his body, the buzzing stopped. Dice looked himself over. There was one thing missing.

He turned his badge's electromagnet and placed it over the outline in his suit.

"Snazzy, isn't it?" Haynam said.

He turned on his heel, and broke into another speed-walk.

"One of the first things that you'll learn about this place is that it's a glorified sweat-shop," he shouted over his shoulder. "There's nowhere you can go where there won't be some amount of mayhem going on around you. That said, there is one place in here that I consider a sanctuary."

They entered the halls. Only a few people walked past them. The marble floor glowed of a fresh polish, and there was a scent of fresh lemons.

"This the sanctuary?" Dice asked.

Haynam chuckled.

"No. It's usually much busier around here, I swear. This morning though, a good chunk of our force is being dispatched to stop another riot."

"Are robots tearing up downtown again?" Dice asked.

Haynam gave a sardonic smile.

"How'd you guess?"

He sped up his pace as he whipped around a corner. There was the sound of typing. Then, a whoosh.

"Welcome to my office!" Haynam called out. "Move it, Raymond. I can only leave my office door open to the insanity of the department for so long."

Dice broadened his stride, and walked in.

The office was an unremarkable cube, about half the size of his own apartment. The left wall was devoted to a map of the Monterey District and the right to a holographic computer interface. Haynam's desk took up the center. Haynam was already seated.

"Please, take a seat!" said Haynam.

A stool rose in front of the desk. Dice sat down. Pretending to examine the computer on the wall, Dice studied the room through the corners of his eyes. Haynam gave a look.

Haynam wasn't like most people. His ticks weren't kept on his sleeve, so it had taken Dice a bit of picking at Haynam's skin to uncover them. Even then, his ticks were hardly anything notable. The clearest giveaways were that, when under stress, Haynam's eyes were alert and his voice was cutting.

"You like the computer?" Haynam asked, softly.

Dice nodded. "Latest model?"

"Yep. We like to keep things as up to date here as we can." Haynam gestured at the room. "Pretty nice place isn't it?"

"Definitely. You have great taste for décor."

Haynam smiled smugly, and let his shoulders loosen. Dice smiled back.

Perhaps Haynam wasn't as closed a book as he seemed.

"I almost wish that this was my apartment," Dice continued. "I could see myself living in here. It's probably the nicest office I've ever seen."

Haynam laughed.

"You're living the dream, Haynam."

Haynam leaned forward.

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I've slept in here before. Better than sleep in a tube."

"You have the right idea. I can't sleep in those things for the life of me!"

Haynam chuckled.

"Well... I suppose that we should be getting down to business, shouldn't we?"

Haynam clapped his hands, and a computer screen projected in the center of the table.

"It appears that the M.D.P.D doesn't want you working through the department," Haynam said, scrolling through the screen. He winked at Dice. "Don't worry though. I have a feeling that you'll be joining the main team soon."

Dice winked back and laughed softly.

"For now, you'll be working through your apartment," Haynam continued. "They have you assigned to the 'Hamilton Search Party'. The specifics of it are shaky... But, I'll try to tell you what I do know." He cracked his knuckles. "It's a government search that's been delegated to the police. A federal criminal escaped into the Monterey District, and we have reason to believe that they're hiding out in Diggle Street. However, this particular criminal is slippery. They have a history of escaping arrest, so we can't just launch our drones on a street-wide search. We're putting you on the case to locate the criminal, without arousing suspicion."

Dice raised an eyebrow.

"That's all? Are there any descriptions for what type of person that I'm looking for?"

Haynam gave a pitying smile and shook his head.

"That's all. Trust me, I understand your surprise. Our Chief was asking the same questions when we were assigned the case. However: this lack of evidence is the exact reason why you're so valuable to us right now... You're a living lie detector."

"Something like that," Dice said, cautiously.

"That's going to have to be good enough. Here's the deal: nobody on our force has been able to break any ground on the 'Hamilton Search Party', and the clock is ticking. As far as we're aware, our guy could be living anywhere in that calculator cage and could be anybody. Even robots. We've tried assigning this case to facial analytics robots... But, the feds said that they want us to avoid that. This case is apparently too important to risk being compromised. You're the one person that we have right now."

Dice scratched the back of his neck. The only person? That didn't really line up with what he'd been told during his interview.

"I'll be on it," he said. "But, I just want you to be aware: I'm not infallible as a facial analyst. My accuracy has its limits."

A grim shadow came over Haynam.

"You're already 'on it', Raymond. We assigned you to this case a week ago, when you were hired. This isn't a matter of debate. The U.R.O officials are expecting results, and you're the only way to get them. We can deal with complications when and if we get to them."

Dice straightened up, and mimicked Haynam's grim demeanor.

"Understood. You make great points, Haynam. Very... Very apt of you. I'll be on patrol the moment I'm back at my street."

Haynam's brow raised, and then furrowed. He didn't care for the compliments anymore.

"No, you won't be on 'patrol'," said Haynam, raising his voice. "You're undercover, Raymond. Your uniform stays here. Your profession stays here. As far as anybody will be concerned, you'll be on a walk. If anybody asks you what the 'Hamilton Search Party' is, you've 'never known a guy named Hamilton'. And, for the love of god: I don't want to hear you ever call your work a patrol again."

"I won't."

"Good. Now, here are a few guidelines: we want you looking for suspicious persons. If anybody happens to strike you as such, watch them. Shadow them. Determine whether their character is the sort that matches that of a criminal. You'll report back in a week with a list of people, which will have the likeliest suspect at the top."

"And if I'm unsure?"

"You damn well better be sure, Raymond. You need to be able to sum up a person's life in a glance. This is your job now. This is what you signed up for. Besides: you're looking for one very specific person. It can't be that hard."

Dice felt a surge of reassurance rise to his chest.

"Thank you for this, Haynam," he said.

Haynam reached across the desk and shook Dice's hand.

"You're welcome," he said, with another smug grin. "Do your job fast, do it right, and I might have a better position settled for you in the future."

Haynam turned to type into his desk's computer.

"All of our leads have been sent to your personal computer," Haynam said. "Get out of here. Leave your uniform in your locker: the password is 829. And, if this conversation has already gotten your uniform sweaty... Well, burn it."

Chapter 6:

Dice stood at the corner of his apartment building. A headache clutched his temples and sweat streamed down his face. His hand clenched around a nearby lamppost. The street was an oven, but he had to ignore the discomfort.

Squinting through the fog, he stared at everybody that walked by. A robot, carrying a trash incinerator. Another robot, whizzing by with a smile plastered on its face. A man, hauling a scrapped projector. Nobody suspicious.

Or, was he just not being suspicious enough?

There was a robot with a flickering digital face that was both frowning and smiling at the same time. A woman with a mangled briefcase, a few sizes larger than normal ones. Sparks flew as a robot pulled itself forward with its arms, its exhaust barrel grinding against the ground.

Paranoia gnawed at him. Somebody looked in his direction, and a part of him was desperate to interpret it as guilt. His head throbbed as he strained to keep himself in check.

A robot paused in mid-flight to stare at him. Dice made a mental note. Though, had the robot's stare only been out of a passing curiosity?

His hand slapped against the lamppost, making a dull rattle. He needed somebody to follow, but nobody quite had the right look to them. He winced. His intuition was melting into bias, leaving his thoughts muddled.

His chest sunk deeper as he studied a robot that went by: the grooves in its design, the way its arms moved, the way each pixel blinked on its face...

He came up blank.

His fingers ran through his hair. Machines were unreadable. The only thing that he could ever get out of them were their speeds. Some appeared to be in a rush, whereas others would move uncomfortably slow.

Though, how was he going to be able to fulfill the requirements of this case if he couldn't read a robot's emotions?

The ominous thought made his head spin. It was too much. He walked toward his apartment's capsule transmitter and made a mental list of all the people that he'd studied.

When he'd begun making his way through his apartment's hall, he was trying to create perfect images of specific people he'd seen in his head. Though, the images crumbled apart before he even started. Nothing stuck out to him.

He turned on his computer projector. It was seventeen thirty. Dice groaned and rubbed his forehead. Five hours had been spent pacing through the street, and absolutely nothing had come of it. A knot formed in his stomach as he remembered he only had six more days before he needed to report back. The knot tightened when he realized that people would become suspicious if he continued standing in the same spot.

Undoubtedly, they already were.

Dice activated his chess board. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't read these people. He'd never had to do anything like this before. He was used to being one among a crowd of many. He was used to living on a street where there were dozens of people, rather than robots. He hadn't been trained for this.

Perhaps he'd gone in over his head. Perhaps he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Perhaps —

There was a beep. It couldn't have been the chessboard... Could it? He'd never lost a game of chess before.

The beep went off again. There was a short shriek.

The capsule transmitter.

Dice groaned. Walking to the door, Dice prayed it wasn't who he thought it was.

Dice's fingers pressed along the keypad. The door flew open.

"Are you ready to come to dinner?"

It was the robot he'd met in the morning.

"Sure," Dice said.

He winced as he squatted down and slid through the gap in the capsule.

"Hello!"

"'Hell', more like it," Dice muttered, as he looked up.

He almost couldn't recognize the robot at first glance. Rather than hovering in the air, the robot was suspended on a pair of legs loosely screwed into the sides of its barrel. A pair of arm extensions accompanied them. Heat rose to Dice's face. All the limbs were poorly designed, their wire frames being held together by thin rods and springs.

He said nothing. There was no point in shaming the robot. Clearly, it had put the limbs on to impress.

"Are you excited for the night's upcoming proceedings?"

"Well, you set such a high bar. How couldn't I be?"

The robot playfully slapped Dice on the back. Dice's grimaced as something pricked his skin and a chill shot up his spine. His eyes flitted to the side to find that the robot's arm was tipped with knife-like ornaments.

"Well, I suppose that we should be going," the robot said. It pressed the keypad inside the capsule. They were shut into an ear-piercing descent.

"I never have caught your name," the robot said. Dice felt the urge to ignore him, but the robot had raised its voice over the grinding capsule.

"Oh... Me?" Dice asked, with a chuckle. "I'm Dice. Dice Raymond."

"How peculiar."

"You're one to talk... What's your name again?"

"You did not remember my name?"

"I like to think that I have a strong memory. And, as I recall, you never finished telling me your name."

The robot made a harsh clicking sound in its throat — he was trying to laugh.

It rattled as it began listing off the digits to its name. Dice cut it off before it could finish.

"You know what? I'm just going to call you Rob. Is that alright?"

Red light and steam flooded the capsule as the doors slid open, and Dice stepped into the street.

"Why, thank you," Rob said. "No homo sapiens have ever taken the time to give me a nickname before."

"Yeah? Well I made sure to put a real lot of thought into it," Dice said, dryly.

He stopped to look around. Had the street always been this big? Aging structures loomed over his head, and lumbering power generators peppered the street. He was just a speck amidst it all.

"Where are we supposed to go again?" Dice asked.

Rob turned the corner of Dice's apartment building, entering an alleyway. Dice followed, but goosebumps rose on his forearms as they brushed against rusting iron.

Shoulders bumped between the walls — there was less than a meter of space between one building to the next. Several centimeters of water covered the ground, soaking his ankles to the skin.

Dice looked up to find a ceiling where the two buildings converged. Computer processors and an entanglement of wires were strewn along it. Random sparks of electricity randomly arced between them, lighting it up in a blue glow. The only other light in the alley came in the form of straggling red rays that had lost their way from the street.

Dice kept his distance as Rob brought him deeper into the alley. Rob's legs fizzled at each step in the water.

There was a splash. Rob slid forward and gripped the alley walls with his arms. Plaster splattered the water as Rob dislodged his arm. He'd left behind thick gashes — gashes that were only a few among far too many.

A series of horrific images flashed through Dice's head — headlines of robotic kidnappers and murderers. He looked behind, to see the distant shadow of the street. He looked back to Rob. They'd been walking for a while, but Rob gave no indication that they were getting any closer to his home. The alley just didn't seem to end. What if Rob was just leading him along?

Dice's eye broke into a fit of twitching. This was a huge mistake.

"You live down here?" Dice asked. "Must be a long walk."

"Oh, not down here," said Rob, clicking his tin throat. "Only defectives ever bother living down this alley."

Rob kicked at the water, knocking a metal head in the air.

"That's just great..." Dice said. "Where do you live, then?"

"We're almost there."

Dice searched through his list of stock excuses to find one that would give him an out. His stomach sunk. He was too deep in the alley to try turning back now.

"Ah! Here we are."

Rob stopped and stooped over. Dice frowned. The place they'd stopped was indistinguishable from any other spot in the alley. The walls were still covered in gashes, the ceiling was still sparking with molding wires, and the ground was flooded in water.

"I don't see it," Dice said. "Where are we supposed to be going?"

"Under."

"What?"

"I don't live down this alley. I live under it."

"There's really that big of a distinction between the two for you?"

Rob submerged his head and arms. When he reeled himself back up, he held a large metal plate in the air. A whirlpool had formed in the ground. Dice turned up his hearing aid — there was a faint echo of something sloshing as it hit the ground. The whirlpool must've been spilling into a hole.

"Go on," Rob said. "I'll come behind you, and put the plate overtop of us.

Dice squinted into the hole. It was pitch dark and had no bottom in sight. His heart raced. He thought about running. Though, he was painfully aware that Rob was hovering behind him, with a heavy metal plate in hand.

Dice begrudgingly squatted down into the water and slid into the hole.

Water sprayed in his face. His eyes burned. He tried to find direction, but he'd been blinded. Flailing his limbs, he managed to grip onto something. A metal bar.

His arm seared with pain and the bar was slick, but he held on as tight as he could. Jerking half his body to the side, he managed to swing his right arm to the bar. His feet found another row of bars below him.

"A ladder," Dice sputtered. "Thank god."

Despite the downpour, he started down. His feet slid a few times. He nearly fell after missing one bar entirely. However, he somehow managed to make it down on the ground.

The water stopped pouring. There was a clang. Dice rubbed the water from his eyes, looked up, and saw Rob climbing down the ladder.

"Maybe next time I should be the one to put the metal plate down," Dice shouted to him.

"According to my analysis, humans aren't as strong as robots," Rob said. "It's only hospitable that I be the one to handle it."

Dice rolled his eyes.

He shivered. His hair was soaked and he was coated in silt. Dice tried cleaning the grime off his face with his shirt sleeve, but only made it worse. His fingers pinched his soggy bodysuit, peeling some of it off his skin. To no avail.

"Allow me to pull this switch for you," said Rob.

There was a clang, followed by a row of lights blinking to life. Dice squinted as he tried to adjust. A concrete cave stretched around him and shaped into a sort of bowl.

He was standing on a sturdy concrete platform, built into the cave's wall. Though, ahead of him was a bridge suspended over rushing, briny water. Dice craned his neck forward. It was so long. What was even on the other side?

Maybe he wouldn't even have to walk across it. Maybe his platform was all the exploring he'd have to do.

"What do you think of the entrance?" Rob asked.

"I think it looks pretty nice."

Rob steamed as he processed the words. Then, he walked toward the bridge.

"Follow me to the main room."

Dice's muscles quaked. The bridge swayed at each step he took, and the water gurgled below him. It begged for his attention. The cave swung. He had to keep his head up. Whatever he did, he couldn't let himself look down.

Leaning forward, he held to a railing in Rob's back. Somehow, the swinging slowed. The end of the bridge came into focus.

The nausea faded, but everything was still wrong. He took a second look at Rob. He shouldn't have needed his help. He should've been able to get across on his own. It was just a bridge.

Once he'd made it to the other side and regained his balance, he jerked his hand away from Rob's back. Looking down to the watch on his wrist, he sighed. It was only 18:00. How long would it be before he could leave?

"Welcome to my home!" Rob said.

They were in a wide tunnel that stretched on endlessly. It had to at least be five times the width of a transport tube. Dice's mouth went dry.

"This is where you live?"

"It's where I live, as well as where I work. I maintenance all the plumbing that runs through these tubes. There are constantly leaks and fluctuations, because the water-line wasn't properly designed down here — too many government cutbacks during its construction. Decay doesn't help either..."

Dice nodded.

"How many apartments are you responsible for?"

"About five hundred. However, there are four other water-lines that run parallel to this one, so I'm only 25% responsible for the plumbing in each apartment."

"And you do this job all alone?"

Rob doubled over and squealed through his metal throat.

"No. I have plenty of family to help me," Rob said. "In fact, it's dinner time. Would you like to meet them?"

Dice was frozen. Rob took his silence as a "yes” and led him through the tunnel. They didn't stop until they reached a smaller tunnel that had been burrowed into the concrete. Dice tried to peer in, but all he could see was a pitch blackness.

"Come on," Rob said, entering.

"I don't have the advantage of night-vision like you do," Dice said.

Rob stopped short, and stared Dice in the eye. Dice stared back. An ominous cloud hung between them. Dice wasn't sure how long he stood there, unblinking and unwavering, before he couldn't stand to stand there any longer. However, he knew it had been long enough for something to snap.

As he reluctantly followed Rob into the darkness, he looked back at the ever-shrinking light from the main tunnel. He should've never agreed to come to dinner. All it would've taken was an excuse. Any half-baked excuse.

There was a prolonged scrape. A glaring light flickered on. Wincing, Dice shielded his eyes.

"Say hello to my family," Rob said.

Dice could only make out vague shapes and shadows. He turned up his hearing aid but picked up an overabundance of static.

"Hello," Dice said, as he groped around the room.

"Please, take a seat," said Rob.

Dice's leg jammed into a slab of metal. With a short whimper, he felt around it — it was a chair. He sat down and rubbed the fresh bruise on his leg. A creak and then a thud resounded as Rob sat across from him.

"As is human custom, I believe it's time for us to become acquainted with one another," Rob said. "This is model 2970—."

"That's alright, I can give them my own human nicknames," Dice said, pointing at the blurry figures in front of him. "That's Robby, that's Robert, that's Roberta, and that's... Bob."

"'Bob' is a backup power generator," Rob said, pointing a finger to the left.

Dice gave pause to narrow his eyes in the finger's direction.

"Yes. Yes, he is."

Rob fizzed, and bobbed his head between each of the figures. He must’ve been trying to comprehend all the names.

Once finished, Rob gave a mellow "thank you". Dice returned it with a half-hearted "you're welcome", as he started rubbing his eyes. They were watering.

"Could you please turn the light down," Dice said, still rubbing.

"Why, of course."

Dice winced and adjusted his hearing aid as Rob's arm made an ugly scrape against the wall. There was a smooth snap. The light's intensity decreased and Dice’s vision began to clear.

"Your family is very quiet," Dice said.

"Indeed, they are," Rob said, with a clicking in his throat. There was a ding. "That must be dinner."

Rob walked to a small furnace in the back. A film lingered over Dice’s eyes, but he was finally able to make out more of the room. It was a jagged concrete hole that looked as though it had been chiseled out by Rob himself. There were few items of décor, and the items of décor the room did have were purely practical — a charging station, an assortment of wires, an old filer unit, and an outdated computer projector.

Dice looked back to his table, and his pulse came to a halt. Across from him was a rusted robot with protruding limbs that hung limply and a head that was only held to its torso by a thin rods. Dice thought it must’ve been deactivated for decades. That is, until its eyes managed to flick back and forth. Even as Dice’s vision completely cleared, he couldn't take his eyes off it. The robot couldn’t take its eyes off him. For a moment the robot seemed to look away, and Dice let his gaze wander — but the robot’s eyes shot back the moment he did.

What thoughts were running through the robot’s decaying mind? Why did it stare at him?

"This is your family?" Dice asked, furling his lip.

He couldn’t hide his emotions anymore. This was too much.

"Yes. I informed you of this approximately three minutes ago. Did you forget? I thought you said that you had a strong memory."

Dice warily kept his eyes on the robot across from him. “That doesn't mean there aren't things I'd love forgetting."

There was a slam as Rob shut the furnace. Steam spilled into the room, and Rob raised a platter above his head.

"Sorry," Rob said. "I'd intended to prepare human food, but I couldn't obtain any. If you don't mind, I'll be serving energy packets instead."

Dice eyed the steaming black cubes on the platter. Just putting one in his mouth would send a fatal shock through his body.

“No thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite tonight.”

This had to be some sort of prank. He looked back over his shoulder, to the dim patch of light where the main tunnel had been. It wasn't too late. Yet as he went to stand, something tugged on him and kept him to his chair.

Maybe something would come out of all this. He just needed to wait it out for a little longer.

"Those energy packets look extremely outdated," Dice said, as he watched Rob pass them around the table.

The packets Dice was used to seeing were silver, and had a rainbow tint to their edges when they were hit by light at just the right angle.

"They are," said Rob. "My employer only pays me in reserves, due to my job's perceived ‘low’ stature. But it's no matter. It's better that I'm provided the means survive than not at all. At least I haven't been disposed of due to defectiveness, like more unfortunate robots have been."

"’Unfortunate’ isn't the word that I'd use… Those 'defective' robots are typically responsible for mass catastrophe when they malfunction."

"Point noted. I'll also maintain that there are upsides to being paid in expired energy packets. They oftentimes give processor boosts, when installed at the right temperature. I assume that's why they're Roberta's favorite."

Dice’s eyes swam as he looked for which of Rob’s mangled robots were ‘Roberta’, before giving a defeated nod.

"This seems to be quite the important job" Dice said, as Rob shoved an energy pack in his back. Dice flinched as it crunched. "How were you assigned it, exactly?"

"Like any robot is assigned any job: I was produced for a set purpose and given the job accordingly. My body is most fit for fixing leaks and repairing damage. It's hardwired into me."

"And, in this job, do you ever get to leave? Does it ever get lonely?"

The crunching in Rob's body stopped. Dice smirked. Perhaps there was some amount of vulnerability under the metal shell after all.

"Loneliness is not a feeling that I'm subject to," Rob said. "Even if I were, I have no reason to feel lonely. I have all these robots at my disposal. I'm also able to monitor people's rooms, via a series of pipe barometers: I know how much water each apartment uses per day. I'm even aware of when the apartment owners leave, and when they return. In this way, I'm a part of the lives of everybody in this building without even ‘being in their lives’ at all."

Dice's smile disappeared. His lip quivered. How many other robots knew this much about people?

"So, these robots are all the friends you have?" Dice asked.

"Depending on your definition of the word, yes. I collected them as bits of scraps I've found flowing through the sewage… You wouldn't believe what some people dump down here. Sometimes, full robots. Sometimes, full people. It's truly a tragedy."

Dice’s muscles tensed.

"So, what is your job?" Rob asked. "You never did mention it to me."

Dice tried wiping away the sweat forming on his forehead with his drenched sleeve.

"It's too complicated to understand."

"Nothing is too complicated for my mind to comprehend."

"Yes..." said Dice. He gulped. "But... Well, I never said that it was too complicated for you to understand. It's too complicated for me to understand."

Rob's throat rumbled as he prepared to speak.

"So, I've heard a rumor that you robots are programmed never to come up to the surface while working these types of jobs," Dice said, cutting him off and putting out a fake chuckle. "Is that right?"

Rob nodded and his digitized face formed into a cheery expression.

"That's correct."

Dice's jaw clenched. He readjusted his position in his chair.

"So, then... How is it that you came to my room when I first moved here?"

"I came to meet the new neighbor, of course. There is nothing in protocol prohibiting that."

Dice raised an eyebrow.

"And this morning? How did you run into me?"

"I decided to come above the surface this morning."

"Why? That. Does. Not. Compute."

Rob turned away, and went back to crunching his energy pack.

"Rob, why did you come above ground this morning?"

"I assumed that... I assumed that you had left your room. I wanted to make sure that you were invited to dinner, as I make sure of with all human visitors."

“Convenient assumption.”

“Indeed.”

Dice took another look around the room, with its tattered walls, tangled wires and bits of scraps. He took another look at the rusted robot, which was still staring at him. Dice still hadn't figured out how to tell if a robot was lying or not. He wasn't even sure if a robot was capable of lying. However, he knew one thing: no human had ever ventured down to Rob's cove before.

"Well, thank you for the wonderful meal," Dice said, standing up from his chair. "I’m sorry, but I really need to be going."

The rusted robot's eyes were boring through his head. Rob's head screeched as it turned to face Dice. Dice’s legs were twigs.

"Already?" Rob said.

"It's… human custom to leave early, on the first dinner," Dice explained. "Goodbye."

Rob held out his arm for a handshake. However, Dice only took a glance at the razor-sharp tips of Rob's before walking to the exit. Dice's walk turned into a sprint when he heard Rob get up from the chair and his arms scratch across the walls.

Dice made it through the main tunnel but skidded to a stop at the bridge. He shuddered, and then started across slowly. Though, thinking he heard Rob stalking behind him, Dice let his fear possess him and ran the rest of way across. He climbed up the ladder and tried pushing the lid open. The first two tries, it didn't budge. He shouted when he looked down to find the jagged metal had left cuts in his hands.

In a rush of adrenaline, Dice gave the lid another shove, managing to push it out of its place. He powered through sheets of water until he was sprawled across the pool in the alley. Heart still pounding, he dragged the lid over the entrance to Rob's cove, and broke into another sprint. He didn't stop until the street was in clear view.

"That should've taken care of him," Dice said with a pant, as he doubled over.

He took in several deep breaths. He held his hand to his heart and listened as it slowed back to its normal pace. Grinning, Dice started back into a walk. The end of the alley was only a few meters ahead.

There was a crash. Dice whipped his head around as his heart shot out of his chest. The woman with the silver eyes was just standing in the middle of the alleyway. Staring. Sparks fell from the alley's ceiling, and fell in front of her. She didn't flinch.

A rush of air came back to Dice's lungs. He could've left. He could've ran. He didn't.

"Who are you?" Dice asked. He made an attempt to return the piercing gaze.

The woman didn't respond. Dice tried reading her face, but the darkness of the alley shrouded it from view.

"Answer me," Dice said.

His voice was cold. Metallic. It was a voice that he'd only ever used in the secret of his apartment. Yet, the woman was unfazed.

The woman must've just been deaf, and had just lost her way to her apartment. That was all. He checked the watch on his bodysuit. It was getting too late to keep bothering with her.

Dice walked out of the alley, and went to turn toward his apartment building. However, he couldn't stop himself from taking one last look back at the woman.

She was gone.

A lump formed in Dice's throat. His arms trembled. When he reached his apartment's capsule transmitter, he'd forgotten his password. It took a few tries before he made it to his room.

His mind left in tatters, Dice played a game of chess. He lost. The game must've glitched. That was all.

It was probably from a vestigial part. He bent down and popped open his computer projector. Pulling out a rod that had electric sparks coming off the tip of it, he slid a switch on its side of it to turn it off.

He lifted up the panel where his tools were kept, and placed the rod inside. He'd intended to remove that part at some point anyway.

…

Dice etched a rod of metal along the glass tube. Ten weeks. Ten weeks since he'd been trying to escape.

How long had he been there though? There was no telling. It felt like eternity. Though, there was no eternity that could've felt hellish as this...

A shout. What was out there? Dice pressed his face against the glass.

Blackness. Only blackness.

Something cold clamped around his shoulders, and pulled him back. He hit the ground, and pain rippled through his back. He looked up. His eyes welled with terror. A metal bowl descended upon him, and then fastened around his scalp. Electricity tore at his skin and made his head ache. A screen lit up in front of him. Suddenly, he was in an entirely new world.

Chapter 7:

Even with the aid of sedatives, Dice couldn't get any sleep for the next few days. He felt trapped inside of his room. Trapped inside of his sleep tube. And, whenever he shut his eyes, trapped inside of himself. His dreams tormented him, sending him through a spiral. He was always walking through the alleyway, never stopping to rest. The water would rise higher, and the sparks would become more ferocious. But, there was no end in sight.

Dice would wake up, only to find that he wasn't truly awake. He was walking through yet another alleyway. He'd wake up again, and finally escape the dream — only to find himself in a living nightmare, lying on the floor of his room in the middle of a game of chess. Staring down his hall and at his door for a long while, Dice felt a fear of somebody or something knocking on it rip through him. Nobody ever did. The mere thought drove Dice insane nonetheless.

Despite his exhaustion, Dice kept at the case. He walked a randomly produced route through his street in the morning, and an equally random route at night. He'd try to catch the faces of as many people as he could, but made sure to never stay in the same place for too long. Even when he caught the eye of a somebody who seemed deserving of being followed, he never found anybody that left nearly as striking an impression on him as he wanted. There was an element of sheer malice he was looking for. A glint in the eye, angled in just the wrong way.

Dice was sitting on his couch in his apartment. His eyes were buried under rows of names and facial descriptions that he'd assembled over the past few days. He only had two days left. Two days to prove if he was a failure, or a success.

Perhaps the man with the twitchy eye could pass as the prime suspect? Or, maybe it was the woman who'd decided to wear three layers of bodysuits? The robot that carried an oversized bag of radials with it whenever heading to work, but never when returning from work?

The woman with the silver eyes?

The thought of her made him tremble.

Not her. Definitely not her.

Dice yawned. He felt his eyelids sink under the weight of it all. He tried opening them. No — he didn't need them open right now. He could afford them just a short rest.

Suddenly, the sky was above his head. The sun was out. Its rays danced across the tops of buildings — tops of buildings that he knew all too well. His old apartment was just ahead of him, and it suddenly occurred to him just how nice it looked. It had a modest dignity to it. His whole street did.

There was a roar as a transport tube whizzed overhead.

A roar.

Dice reopened his eyes, and gave a jump. The capsule transmitter had been making a noise. Somebody was at the door. He checked the time on his computer. It was 1:00.

His balance shorted out on him as he tried to stand, and he leaned on the wall to keep himself steady. His heart skipped a beat as he pressed each button on his keypad. He closed his eyes as his door peeled up. The moment it did, Dice heard something.

A heavy, panicked breathing.

Dice jumped back, and fell onto his side. He grunted, and rubbed his fresh bruises. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

A jolt tore through him.

Nobody was there. The transmitter capsule wasn't even there. His door had opened up to an empty transmitter shaft. He could hear the transmitter capsule off in the distance, as it screeched in its ascent to his apartment.

Dice panted. Then he let out a sigh of relief. The panicked breathing that he'd thought he heard had been his own.

"Dice, you idiot," he said to himself, pulling himself up from the ground. "Nobody was here. It was all in your head."

He brushed himself off, walked to the edge of the transmitter shaft.

"That's right," Dice shouted down into the shaft. "There's nobody here! It's just me!"

He leaned back on his wall as the screeching of the transmitter capsule loudened. His head dipped into his hands. How could he have let himself scare so easily? His own breathing? It was utterly illogical.

Dice took a look at his computer projector. Then, he took a look at the transmitter capsule. It was awaiting his entry.

"I need a breath of fresh air," Dice said, rationalizing to himself.

He crouched down, and slipped through the gap between the floor and the entrance to the capsule. The capsule gave a whine, and started downward. Dice turned and brought his face to the opposite door. He closed his eyes, and listened to fragmented echoes of motors and wires slowly letting him down. The gears in Dice's mind turned as they tried to find the place of each gear and cog in the capsule. He failed, as was usual. Though, what wasn't usual was that he didn't really care. His head wasn't in the capsule. His eyes were on the door.

The door jammed as it tried to open. A cloud of steam squeezed its way under the crack the door had made. Dice crouched down, grabbed the bottom of the door, and forced it up. As he exited, the steam wrapped around him, traveling through his pores and into his lungs.

The whole world was a blur. Just heat and the color red. Yet, to Dice, this blur was indistinguishable from the blur he felt while sleeping on the floor of his apartment.

His head fuzzy, Dice started down the street. As he made his way around the bend, he noticed how quiet everything really was. It was just him, and the thud of his feet against the ground. The thud echoed through the grates and calculator cages far below him.

The streetlights were soft, rather than the blinding blaze he was used to. They must've been turned down for the night. He could only see a few meters ahead of him, and what he could see was mostly in the form of billowing steam. He didn't like it.

Dice wasn't sure what he was doing outside. The longer he thought about it, the more he realized that there was no real reason at all. Did there have to be one? Despite the blurry world around him, everything strangely felt so clear.

On his way back to his apartment building, he sat on the ground and rested. He watched the grates high above him. Lights winked at him, and Dice felt calm inside of himself. He brushed the sweaty hair out of his face and prepared to stand up. He never stood up though. Instead, he waited. What for, he didn't know. He waited all the same.

Minutes burned as he stared at the lights. As a doze began overtaking him, he finally got up and walked to the alleyway. The air thinned. The lights went even dimmer.

The world felt amiss. Something was being masked by the silence.

Clenching his fists and lowering his brow, Dice turned the corner.

The alleyway was empty.

Dice shook his head. It couldn't be. His mind couldn't be playing tricks on him for a second time. He treaded lightly into the alley. Flashes of his nightmares went by, but he ignored them.

"Hello?" Dice called out. "I know that you're here!"

He turned his aid up. Only the sparks overhead responded to his shouts.

"Come out! I know that you're here!"

Still nothing. Yet, for just a moment, Dice thought that he heard something stirring. Dice took a few steps forward, taking care to not make the water slosh. He waited a few seconds. There was more stirring. He snapped his head around, and looked for where it might've been from.

"Who is that?! Who's there!?"

Still no answer. Dice's heart tried to escape his ribcage.

There was a loud clatter. Then, a splatter. A whir.

Dice sprinted toward the noise.

"Who's there?!"

Once again there was no answer, but he saw a faint blue glow off in the distance. It became brighter. Brighter still. The whir loudened.

Dice jumped behind a mound of scraps, and trying to keep as much of his body obscured under the water as he could. The blue light finally whizzed by his head.

It was Rob. Dice squinted in confusion. He wasn't able to look for long though, because Rob stopped to turn around after reaching the end of the alley. Dice dunked his head in the water, and hoped Rob wouldn't be able to see him.

"Dice?" Rob said.

Dice grimaced, and lifted his head. He'd forgotten about Rob's night vision.

"Dice?" Rob said again.

"That's me."

Dice shook his head to rid the water from his hair.

"I was just looking for you!" Rob said.

A twinge went through Dice's chest as he shook his head.

"Just wonderful," Dice muttered. He raised his voice. "What are you doing out here, exactly?"

Rob paused for a moment, and descended closer to the ground. His hover exhaust made ripples in the water underneath him.

"I saw you were out of your room tonight," Rob said. "I'm tasked to study everybody's rooms, to make sure everybody is sleeping properly throughout the night."

Dice wasn't convinced, but stood up and tried walking back to his apartment.

He should've never stayed out. He was wet, tired, cold, and afraid. Worst of all, he was stuck with Rob. Following whatever semblance of intuition that he'd thought he'd felt hadn't been worth it.

"Did your sleep tube happen to short out last night?" Rob asked.

Dice turned around, and raised an eyebrow.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Just curious as to why you were awake is all. Everything is fine?"

"Yes."

Rob's digitized face flashed into a smile.

"Good. I'll see you again, sometime."

Rob's thin blue jet exhaust faded off into the distance, and the alley returned to black. Dice listened as the sparks flickered. He watched the ripples that Rob had left behind in the water, as they steadily disappeared. Dice kept his ear open for another sign of something stirring. Another sign that something was amiss.

Nothing.

He went back up the capsule transmitter, listening to the gears and pulleys as he went. He knew that if he was able to do just a little bit more — if he could just see through walls — he'd be able to tell what was going on. Though, he had limits.

The capsule transmitter had limits. At the time that it was supposed to let off at Dice's apartment, the capsule stalled altogether. Dice banged on the walls, and tried prying the doors open.

Dice looked at the ceiling of the capsule transmitter, where the emergency exit was. He could break open the glass case to the emergency button, and activate it.

As he raised his arm to the glass, the capsule transmitter reactivated, returning to its climb to Dice's apartment. Dice jumped up to the ledge once the door opened, and shimmied his way onto his apartment floor.

"I'm never doing that again," Dice said to himself, resuming his usual calculated demeanor.

He parted his sopping hair from his eyes and wiped some of the dripping water off of his face.

"Computer," Dice said.

He didn't finish. Just as he went to speak, there was soft clang behind him. He turned around. The head of a scrapped robot was laying on top of the capsule. Dice ran toward it, in the hope of looking up the transmitter shaft to see where the head had fallen from.

The door shut just before Dice could reach it.

Chapter 8:

The transport tube moved through the city in a dull crawl. The people chatting around Dice clung to each syllable they uttered. Even the thin clouds in the sky seemed to frozen in place. Dice had hoped he'd be able to get the morning over and done with. Instead, every second held him hostage.

Everybody around him was carefree. Happy. Oblivious. He couldn't help but feel a burning envy rise in his chest. If only they could know what he was about to deal with.

He looked down at his feet, and reviewed the list of people that he'd made. His stomach lurched at the thought of having to turn them in to Haynam. There was no telling how seriously his list of suspects would be taken.

A giddiness rose in his chest, in the pain's place. Once he turned in the list, it would only be a matter of time before he'd make his way to the top of the M.D.P.D's ladder. He'd finally be able to make a difference.

The transport car came to a stop at the wall. Dice raised his badge, and the transport car rolled through the wall's tunnel. As the transport tube let everybody off, Dice made his way through the garage of the police department, and then through the locker room.

The locker room was empty. Quiet. Just as it should've been. Dice had made sure to arrive extra early this morning. He wasn't going to allow himself a single extra error in Haynam's book if he could help it.

Dice slipped into his suit, tightened it, and went to attach his badge to his chest. His thumb slipped, pressing its activation button. The badge ripped out of his right hand. Dice dodged, and the badge bashed into the locker behind him.

Dice took a moment to caress his palm. A sting rippled through the torn muscles in his thumb, and blood seeped from his wound. The locker hadn't fared any better, with a large dent having been left in it by the badge. Dice deactivated it, scanned for peering eyes, and cautiously placed his badge on his chest. It purred as it attached to the mesh fabric. Dice's eyes widened for a split-second as he realized how dangerous it really was. Burying his awe back inside of himself, he went to his locker.

He pulled out a bandage strip out of a first-aid box and placed it over his thumb. As he drizzled a few drops of water over the strip, it dissolved into a bubbling mush. As it dried it grafted with the rest of his skin. Dice let out a soft grunt.

"Lesson number twenty," he said, mimicking Haynam's voice.

The strip let out another bubble as he used his right hand to open the exit door and enter the hall. He clenched his teeth and pinched himself to have a different pain to focus on. The only thing he hated more than heights were tissue replicators.

Dice took a whiff of the lemony scent in the hall. Maybe tissue replicators weren't the only thing.

Dice made it to the door of Haynam's office, and gave it a knock. No response. Dice knocked again. Still no response.

He brought his hand to the keypad, and punched in the combination that he'd remembered seeing Haynam use. Right before Dice pressed enter, he stopped himself. What if Haynam wasn't inside? What if he accidentally walked in on something he was supposed to see?

Dice took his finger off the enter button. There was a rush of air and adrenaline came as the door opened.

"Haynam?" Dice asked, peering his head through the door.

Dice kept on his toes as he walked in and was cautious that the metal mesh of his bodysuit didn't scrape against itself. All of the lights were off, but Dice could hear a quiet breathing just ahead. It was so slight that it almost sounded like the breathing of somebody trying to hide it.

A slam resounded. The door behind Dice had closed. The slice of light from the hall was gone. Dice was left in pitch dark. Even worse, the breathing had stopped.

There was a snore. A thump.

"Wha?" Haynam said, drowsily.

Dice relaxed his shoulders. He walked over to the light switch. Haynam shielded his eyes and let out a moan as the lights flipped on.

"Who’s there? What's going on!?"

Haynam was sitting behind his desk, with his eyes wild and fists out. Dice forced a laugh. It was all he knew to diffuse the situation.

"It's me," he said. "Dice! Dice Raymond? You scheduled for me to have a meeting with you this morning?"

Haynam let out another moan, and sunk back into his chair. It was folded all the way down, into a makeshift bed.

"Damn you, Dice," he said, with a bitter chuckle.

"Sorry about that," said Dice. He attempted to inject as much charisma into his voice as he could.

"Say sorry to yourself."

Haynam sat back up and threw a plasma gun on the table. Webs of red light ran through it. It had been set to kill. Dice wanted to respond, but a part of him had been ripped away in that moment.

"I was this close from blasting you away," Haynam said.

The room grew, towering over Dice. Or, had he shrunk?

"I wasn't aware that an officer could carry a gun," Dice said.

Haynam gave a sly smile. He pulled the plasma gun off from his table, and placed it back in a drawer in his desk.

"Officers can't," he said. "But, deputies can."

Dice gave a firm nod.

Haynam pulled up his chair, and then pressed a button. The stool raised in front of his desk.

"Please, take a seat," Haynam said.

He had a unique way of speaking that enraptured Dice. Cool. Calm. Methodical.

Dice shook his head. He was just tired. That was all.

"I fell asleep in my office again," Haynam said. "I was working overtime. Another riot... Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

"I suppose that I could say the same thing, sir."

A glimmer flashed in Haynam's eyes.

"Yes, I suspect that you could," he said, with a smile. "That said, like I tell all of my other officers: there's no better working time than overtime! It's during the extra hours you put in that things count the most... You've been working hard on the case?"

"I sent the list to your database just this morning."

"Let's see it then."

Haynam turned on his projector. The list flashed in the center of the table. Haynam scrolled through it, studying all the names and descriptions Dice had gathered. A smile formed in the corner of his lip. Dice's heart skipped a beat

"This — this is a breakthrough on the case."

Heat rose to Dice's face.

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Dice said. "I just threw that together."

Haynam shook his head, continuing to stare at the list.

"No — I'm cross-referencing the names you've gathered," Haynam said. "All of your analyses add up. We need to have you work on more cases. We've sent other officers over there, and we've had our suspicions... But, your list really works to help clear everything up."

"I'm not particularly interested in continuing to do facial analyses."

Haynam looked up from his screen, and gave a fierce glare. His hand slipped under the desk.

Was he fingering his gun's drawer?

"Get interested," Haynam said, bringing his hand to his chin and meeting Dice's eyes. "If not, I'm sure that there are plenty of other facial analytics robots that we can enlist, and sta—."

"No, that's fine. I'm sure that we can work something out."

Haynam returned to his list, and flashed his teeth. How could he be so happy scrolling through the list, determining a person's future on a whim?

"This list just goes on and on..." Haynam said.

"You gave me a week. I used it."

"Definitely looks like that... Who's on the top of the list?"

Dice looked straight into Haynam's eyes. His mouth was dry, but he answered anyway.

"A robot," Dice said. "It works in the sewage department, under my apartment building. I'm not sure of its exact unit number, but I managed to recall that it began with these six numbers: 21168. It also will respond to the name 'Rob', if that helps."

Haynam stopped scrolling through the list of names.

"A sewage bot that works under your apartment?" he asked. "That's the guilty party?"

"According to my facial analytics, which only have been proven to have 60 percent accuracy... Yes."

Haynam's jaw hung open. His pupils expanded. He was clearly shocked. Yet, Dice thought he could detect a hint of pleasure.

"We've been trying to keep tabs on everybody living there, but we never thought... We were never really looking too closely at the low-level robots."

Dice forced a smile.

"Thanks. I'm quite confident that it's him."

He was punched in the gut as he said the words but didn't let on. Haynam grinned and clapped his hands together, oblivious.

"What makes you think that it's him?" Haynam asked.

"There was just something on the robot's face... The way that it acted. I've never liked robots much, but this one was especially hard for me to tolerate. I could tell that it was hiding something, Haynam. It was even studying the activity in people's apartments."

"That's part of the job of sewage bots," Haynam said. The cerebral gleam in his eye dimmed.

"Oh, I'm aware. However, his obsession with it... that wasn't part of his job. He'd document when people would leave and monitor them when they did. Worse, he was collecting outdated bits of technology — clearly a violation of U.R.O protocol. I suppose that would only be a minor violation, on its own... But, he had a strange desire to make the scrapped technology into his friends."

Haynam's eyes pierced through Dice.

"What type of technology was he collecting?"

"Old bits of robot parts, and computer processors. On their own, nothing that would've stood out as significant... However, this robot was still stealing technology and trying to repurpose it into new robots. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Haynam gave Dice a look, and shook his head in disbelief.

"That's definitely our guy," he said.

Dice returned the look.

"I wouldn't be so certain. This robot was suspicious, yes... But—."

"Your descriptions match everything that we've been looking for. I can't believe that we hadn't thought of looking where you looked sooner... The answer had been right under our noses. Literally. Thank you so much for your service Dice. I'll have you assigned to a new case within the next day or so."

A dark shadow came over Haynam's face, and he motioned toward the door. Dice stood up, as he scrambled to find the right words.

"Aren't you at least going to look through the list of other people?" Dice asked. "You can't just convict the robot without further evidence, can you?"

Haynam reached his hand out, and gave a deprecating smile.

"I'll take another look if you feel it's needed, but you did your job and you did it well," he said. "Your analyses, paired with the smuggled technology, should be more than enough to convict this robot. In about a day, we'll have a warrant to search his place and arrest him. The only thing close to 'further evidence' we'll need is your exact testimony to prove the robot's guilt. Though, that's a matter that should be resolved rather quickly..."

Dice slowly walked to the door, but kept his eyes on Haynam.

"And, when would you need to use my testimony to convict the robot?" Dice asked.

"A week, tops," said Haynam. "As I've told you before: we get things done quickly around here. This case in particular can't afford another delay. We'll have the U.R.O breathing down our back..."

Dice's finger spasmed as it pressed enter on the keypad. It could've used about a dozen more delays.

Chapter 9:

Night fell, coating Dice's apartment in darkness. Though, Dice didn't sleep. He didn't move. He sat on his couch, and stared at the wall.

Whenever his eyes closed, his nightmares returned more viciously than ever. He'd find himself in the alley, being chased by a pair of eyes. Harsh, silver eyes. If it wasn't that, it was Haynam pointing his plasma gun at his chest.

Dice's left eye twitched. In an effort to ignore it, he kept staring at the wall. It twitched again.

He put his hand over his eye and rubbed it until the muscles relaxed.

Relaxation was what he needed. His mind was wrecked by the stress of his job. That was all. He just needed to get away from it all.

Yet, the harder he tried pushing his thoughts away, the more agitated they became. His stress had started as a drizzle. Now it was a hurricane.

Why did he sell out Rob?

He knew why: he had to. The evidence of Rob's guilt was perfectly rational. Logical.

Logic couldn't erase guilt though.

There was something odd about Rob. However, there was something odd about every robot Dice had come across. They were machines: it was in their nature to act unnatural. Rob might've been off-putting. That didn't mean he was guilty. Worse yet, the only tool Dice had of determining somebody's guilt couldn't have worked if he'd tried.

Dice rested his chin on his hand. Perhaps Rob had deserved it. Perhaps there was a silver lining in the fact that one more robot was being gotten rid of — even if it was on false grounds.

The woman with silver eyes flashed through Dice's mind. Why hadn't he just turned her in when he had the chance? What was inside of her soul that was worth sparing? He could've at least mentioned a suspicious figure, but he hadn't even been able to do that.

Dice stood from his couch, and opened his window. His face turned to gravel. The fog and red light obscured his view of the street. Yet, while it might've just been an exhaustion-induced hallucination, he could see the alley. It was drawing him in.

Nothing made sense anymore. His world was a mess. There had been too many days without sleep. Too many days of self-doubt. Was it going to be like this at his job from now on? At his own apartment? He wouldn't be able to keep it up. There had to be a way out. A way to leave.

The fog whirled as a mouth opened through it, putting the entrance to the alley in clear view.

His hands clenched into fists. It was time.

Dice opened his toolbox, and pocketed his electric rod. He went down his transmitter capsule.

Dice turned the corner of his apartment, and trudged into the watery alley. He stared at the scraps of dead robots on the ground, and then looked up toward the sparking electricity in the ceiling. He activated his rod, and its own electricity burst out of each end.

His hand trembled as he raised the butt of the rod to his head. He winced. Just a tragic misfire of a spark, and his own spark would be out.

The hairs on his forearm raised as he drew the rod closer to his forehead. Beads of sweat streamed down his face. Fear lumped in his throat. He could anticipate the pain. Yet — some part of him knew that he had to go through with it.

It was time, and he hated being late.

There was a shout of pain. Then a bang.

Dice dropped the rod. He snapped his head around. Somebody was there. He turned up the dial in his ear. There were more shouts, and more crashes.

Whoever the sounds were from were deep down the alley — just where Rob was supposed to be.

Death could wait. Dice picked his rod up from off a rusted robot. Raising it above his head, he cautiously made his way through the water. The succeeding outbursts of noise were more spread out, but they also grew in volume. Dice was able to discern the shouts — they came from different people each time.

Was Rob being arrested?

Once Dice had made it halfway through the alley, the shouts and crashes stopped altogether. A hush descended over it. Then, a splash. Several splashes. Somebody was running toward him.

Dice pressed himself against the wall. He froze. As his rod sparked, it revealed the person who'd been running: the woman with the silver eyes.

The wind was knocked out of Dice's gut. He'd been hit. He writhed in shock as he was dunked in the cold water, and the pavement made impact with his chest. All the while he tried keeping his rod in the air, hoping it wouldn't make contact with the water.

"Oh god..." somebody groaned. "God... What the hell was that?!"

They groaned again.

"When did robots start going out on evening strolls?"

It was the woman.

Dice stood up, rubbed his back, and pointed his rod in the general area of where he thought she must've been.

"I'm not a robot," Dice said, his voice turning to steel. "I'm armed with a power rod, and I can turn you into a sparking corpse if I want. Explain yourself."

There several splashes. He kicked his foot in their direction, making impact. The woman let out a grunt.

"Great," she said. "I always knew you were one of them..."

Dice closed his eyes and shook his head in confusion.

"One of what?"

The woman said nothing. Dice stepped forward, brandishing his rod. A fountain of electricity spouted from it.

"Tell me your name," Dice said.

Her eyes swam around the alley, and then fixed back on the rod in Dice's hand.

"Stick."

"Your name is stick?"

"Yeah, Stick. Matches— Matches Stick."

Matches had her back against the wall, and her hands were raised over her head. Dice glanced at the foreboding shadow his rod cast on the wall. Was he on the wrong side of the weapon?

"Matches Stick?" Dice repeated, lowering his rod. "Is that supposed to be convincing?"

Matches pulled her hands down and gave a sheepish smile.

"Better than nothing."

"Well, if we're giving out names, mine is Dice Raymond."

Dice was about to offer a handshake, when there was a bang. He snapped his head around. The alleyway quieted back into a hush, but something crept around Dice's gut.

Dice turned to Matches and increased the voltage of his rod.

"Explain to me what's going on."

The smile faded from Matches' face.

"Drop the rod and let me go. I promise: you'll never have to deal with me again."

Blood pumped through Dice's veins as his face as it construed into a scowl.

"That's rich. You'll be back to stalking me by tomorrow night. Now, I'm giving you an ultimatum: either you give up your story, or I give you up to whoever you're running from."

Matches put her hand to her temples and let out a groan. Dice scrunched his face.

"They're coming," Matches said, lowering her hand from her head. "Sorry, Rice: I have to run."

"What? Run?"

Matches pushed past Dice.

"Yeah, run," Matches said. "Ever heard of it?"

Dice's head was spinning. There were shouts and splashes from not far behind him. Dozens of thoughts. Too many.

His eyes widened.

"Wait," Dice said. "I have an idea. We need to head to my apartment. It might not work... But, it'll at least buy you some time."

Matches gave a glare.

"Yeah, no thanks... I've already seen your apartment. The place is empty — nowhere to hide. Not to mention, it's a dump. "

Face turning crimson, Dice shook his head.

"No, you don't understand... I have a way to get out of this."

Dice looked behind and his mouth went dry. The warm red glow of blasters loomed through the darkness.

"I'm trusting you, and you're going to have to trust me," Dice said.

Matches' pupils shrunk as the glow flooded them. Her eyes flitted back to Dice.

"Yeah, alright... I could probably use a bright idea."

The two turned out of the alley, and then to Dice's capsule transmitter. Dice's hands trembled as he pressed each button on his keypad. Despite the humid air, he was chilled to the bone. Numb.

As the transmitter's door slid open for them, there were blasts and screams from the street. Nothing was visible through the steam, though he already could smell the death hanging in the air.

Dice looked at Matches. Her eyes were clouded with terror.

"They know that we're here," Matches said. "They're going to catch us. We don't have enough time."

"We'll make time, then," Dice said. "I'm good with that."

The doors shut, and the transmitter capsule screeched into its ascent. Dice winced. If the pursuers hadn't known where they were already, they certainly knew then.

"Who are the people chasing you?" Dice asked, after a moment of silence.

Matches shuffled to the side.

"Alright then, don't tell me..."

The elevator jittered and slowed. Maybe he'd made a mistake. Why hadn't he called the police and reported her the moment he'd seen her?

It was too late to go back now though. He wasn't in the mood to have a dead body on his conscience.

The screeching of the capsule transmitter stopped and opened to the bottom floor of Dice's room.

"I'm going to need you to climb up there," Dice said.

Matches stared at the wall.

"Come on! Quickly!"

Shaking her head, as if from a trance, Matches went up to the wall and climbed up the ledge. Dice scrambled after her.

"Alright," Dice said. "Head down the hall to the main room. I'll be there in just a minute"

Dice ran to the table of trophies and knocked the trophies to the floor. The table moaned as it was dragged from the wall. Turning the table on his side, Dice slid it across the floor. It hit the capsule transmitter, barricading the gap between his floor and the capsule's narrow opening.

The capsule bounced and then descended down its shaft. The doors to Dice's apartment went to shut but were stopped by the table.

The pursuers must've called the capsule transmitter down. There was only so much time left.

Dice sprinted directly to his computer projector. Tearing its side panel off, he fumbled for the spot to place his power-rod.

"What are you doing?" Matches said.

"Fixing my computer.

"Why?"

"So that I can destroy it."

Matches raised an eyebrow.

"And I thought I was the crazy one..."

Dice kept at the repair. All of the rods were connected. The panel was ready to be put in place. He just needed to reinforce the repaired rod with a screw.

Where was the screw?

Dice paused to look up at Matches. Her hand was pressed back to her temples.

"Everything is going to be fine," Dice said, as he frantically searched around the floor.

It was just one part. Why did it have to go and disappear now, of all times?

"I have no idea what you're doing, but you're not going to finish in time," Matches said. "They're already coming up. I can hear them."

Dice whipped his hand to his ear to turn up his aid. She was right. There was the slightest shriek off in the distance. It was getting louder.

"Well, isn't that exactly what I need to hear right now?" Dice said. "Please, tell me more."

"These are hitmen. They'll easily be able to hack your door. And, if they can't do that, they'll find a way to get it open."

Dice stood up and brushed himself off.

"Now you tell me..."

There was a slight clink, followed by a roll. Dice scanned the ground, until something glinted. The screw. Dice snatched it up and tightened it into the electric rod to the computer.

"Done," Dice said.

He flipped the switch on, activating the computer.

"Computer! Code: refraction. Activate program: trial simulation delta!"

The projector whirred, and the holographic screen filled with dead pixels as it assumed its base format. Dice glanced at the reflection in the corner and watched Matches' jaw drop.

"Did you just activate an illegal virus simulator?" Matches asked.

"What else does it look like?"

Dice swiped through the screen, his eyes flashing through each prompt in a blur. He could hear the computer already starting to squeal. Yet, he wasn't going fast enough.

"Why do you have access to one of those?" Matches persisted. "The only people that I've heard about using them are terrorists."

Dice gave a small frown but tried to keep focused on the screen. The capsule transmitter was in clear earshot.

"You're the one being chased by government hitmen," Dice finally answered, with a strain.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't be."

Dice glared at Matches.

"I like decoding and disabling complex viruses, okay?" Dice said, with a sigh. "Especially ones that can learn. It keeps my mind sharp."

Matches held a skeptical gaze but kept quiet. All the better. Dice's head was aching as he tried outpacing the projector. No, not just the projector's pace — all of his own former paces.

The capsule transmitter slowed. The screeching stopped. There were thumps from inside the capsule. Time was up.

Dice tried pretending the thumping wasn't there and kept himself in tune with the projector. He just needed to push himself a little harder.

"What are you doing?" Matches said, her voice cracking. "They're here!"

Dice's door slid open. They'd hacked it. The only thing separating the hitmen from the room now was the table that Dice used to obscure the entrance.

It was only going to buy a minute, at most.

There were bangs and shouts for help. The hitmen must've thought that they were trapped in the capsule. Sparks and smoke flared off the projector. They just needed to stay fooled for a little while longer.

"Get off the projector," Matches hissed.

Dice raised his hands and took a step back.

"Done."

Bolts of electricity leaped from the projector and clung to the walls.

"When this thing goes off, I want you to stay in here," Dice said, turning to Matches. "And when you fall, stay in a crouched position."

"When I fall?" Matches asked.

"Also: you're going to need to put that on."

Dice pointed at the feeding apparatus. He jumped away from the projector and ran into the hall. His ears rung as the projector exploded and went up in flames. Dice let out a sigh of relief. The sprinklers turned on, the screen went up between the hall and the room, and the floor slid out to turn into a vacuum.

He looked around for Matches. She was already gone. Had she managed to hook up the ventilator from the feeding apparatus in time?

There was a blast. Dice looked behind him. A gaping hole had been made in his table. A heavily armed hitman was crawling out of it.

No — not a hitman. A soldier.

"Thank God! You firemen arrived just in time!" Dice said, faking a fit of hysterics. "I thought that I was going to die!"

The soldier stood over Dice, glowering. Dice averted his gaze and caught the eyes of several other soldiers crawling through the hole in his table. They were fierce. Focused. Whatever thoughts might've been running through their heads were well hidden under their helmets.

"Funny. There's approximately 1.5 more of you than the usual number in fire responders," Dice said.

He laughed. Nobody laughed with him.

The soldiers lined themselves along the wall. Steam carried out from within the capsule. Then, a grunt. Two hands gripped to the hole in the table. One metal, and one of scarred flesh.

A man crawled out of the hole and brought himself to his full height. He towered over everybody in the hall. Sheer confidence dripped from him.

Dice looked into the man's face. The left half of it was that of a normal man. Stern and worn, but warm at the same time. Though, the right half of his face was metal plate. There was no expression etched onto it. No semblance of humanity. The only ornament it had was a red ball lodged under the slope of the forehead. An eye.

The eye turned down to look at Dice. Dice's intestines turned inside out. As he looked into the eye, there was no soul. Just the glare of a light.

"Take aim," the man said, with a low rumble.

The soldiers lifted their guns and pointed them toward Dice. Though, the guns weren't like the usual plasma guns Dice had been acquainted with. Each one had a luminescent blue funnel attached to its top.

The man smiled and bent down to put himself at eye-level with Dice.

"For firefighters we have pretty odd looking 'water guns', don't we?" the man said, with a chuckle.

A few of the soldiers chuckled with him.

"I'm Captain Knowles," the man said. "Though, my harsher critics have dubbed me 'the knife'. Tell me: do you think that I got that name by fighting a few fires?"

There was a snicker. Knowles' left eye flared with anger.

"You're soldiers?" Dice said, widening his eyes and pretending to be surprised. "I had no idea!"

"Don't get any ideas either," Knowles said, displaying half of a toothy grin. "If you think you can play dumb with me, stay dumb. I know the person we're pursuing followed you here. You can either turn her over, or we'll take her by force. Your choice."

Dice didn't drop his act, despite Knowles trying to bore right through him. Nothing seemed to escape his red eye.

"You're chasing somebody?" Dice asked. "Well, that's exciting. Unfortunately, I can't say I've seen anybody myself."

"'I can't say I've seen anybody myself,'" Knowles parroted.

He smiled and made a dramatic sweep of the arms. Dice winced at the sight of his bionic arm jerking in the air. As he watched Knowles' face, Dice caught a sliver of something cold and detached. Yet, Knowles kept his smile all the same.

"Cadet: you know what to do."

Dice's reflexes kicked in, and he attempted to dodge a soldier running at him. Yet, just as he lunged, a blue film obscured his sight. The nerves up his spine and down his shoulders tingled. He tried to look around, but his eyes were limp. His entire body was.

The film disappeared. Air fled from his nostrils as he received a blow. He sprawled on the ground, with a deep bruise in his side. Dice's arms quivered as he went to push himself back up, but the soldier jabbed his knee into his back. Then, an elbow into the back of his neck.

Dice's cheek squealed as he turned his head to the side. He looked up, to see a fluorescent blue barrel pointed at his head.

"Zero-point energy beams," Knowles said, with a laugh. "You're playing with the U.R.O. With power. Try another move like that, and we'll freeze you again."

"What's going on here?" Dice said. He spread each word out, taking care to avoid exposing his pain.

Knowles walked down the hall, his metal leg leaving a gouge next to Dice's head as he went. His footsteps drew toward the main room. Dice closed his eyes. Had the vacuum and glass screen gone up yet?

Knowles' footsteps quieted and echoed. Dice gave a sigh of relief. It had. All traces of Matches were gone.

"Please let me go," Dice said. "I'm being held against my will. There's no reason to believe I've committed any wrongdoing. I'm an officer, for crying out loud."

Knowles gave a whistle. The soldier pressed his knee down harder on Dice. Dice clenched his teeth and held back a grunt. The soldier shouted, and Dice's back crunched. Dice still didn't grunt.

Knowles' footsteps clanked as he came closer. He let out another chuckle.

"You're knee-deep in a whole world of trouble," Knowles said, projecting his voice with relish. "Literally. Now, I'm not sure where our gal went, but she sure as hell didn't disappear into thin air."

One of the soldiers cleared his throat.

"Sir, it's possible that she hacked this apartment to make it seem like it had a recent visitor — sent off a false signal. It'd explain why his projector exploded."

"No..."

Knowles kneeled down to Dice's face, and stared him in the eye. Dice could smell the fumes coming off of him. Knowles' face stiffened in a fury that was inhuman. Every muscle of his face, devoted to anger.

"Where is the woman that was running in the alley?"

Dice gave a look of bemusement.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, in a voice that rang cold and hollow.

The pressure of the soldier's knee was relieved from his back. Knowles brandished his fingers. They were so close to Dice's face that Dice could read the small serial number imprinted in one of them.

A chill ran down Dice's spine as Knowles' fingers pricked along his back. Their tips were so sharp that they broke through his bodysuit and touched skin.

"Did you know that it takes a certain amount of pressure for something to break through the skin?" Knowles asked.

Dice needed to control his breathing. Just in and out. Keep it steady.

"100 psi," Knowles continued. "Screws, bolts, knives... You can lay on a bed of them and, if you don't hit that amount of pressure, nothing will happen. Go beyond that? Well... Sweet dreams."

The motor in Knowles's arm murmured as his fingers gave a short jab.

"A cold knife riding down a person's skin... A person's skin: it really isn't so different from a person's will, is it? Willpower is a resilient thing but, when pushed hard enough, it will snap. What will it take to break yours? How deep do I have to go?"

The fingers scraped against Dice's back. There was a twinge of pain as a shallow cut was left in their wake.

"I told you," Dice said. "I don't know who this person is, much less where they are. Here I was, thinking my night was awful when my computer exploded... Until you decided to blow my door off."

Knowles removed his fingers from Dice's back.

"My mistake," Knowles said. "I'm sorry."

He walked off. Dice could've stood back up. Though, he stayed in his place. Dice didn't know why, but his muscles remained tense. His ears sharp.

Knowles kneeled back down and grabbed Dice around the jaw.

"I'm sorry I wasn't aware that you were unbelievably stubborn."

Knowles released Dice once more, and walked toward the capsule transmitter.

"Get up," Knowles said.

Dice did. He wanted to drill his eyes into Knowles' face, but Knowles had already turned his back away.

"I know you're hiding her," Knowles said, simply. "I might not know where or how. But, I know that you are. And, I know that you're going to do something stupid with her. I'm going to give you a warning: no matter how clever you think you are, there's no winning. Have fun playing this game while it lasts."

Knowles gave a sideways glance. Dice maintained his dumbfounded expression.

"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong guy," said Dice. "If you think that you can just barge in here, and—."

"That's the spirit," said Knowles.

He whistled to the other soldiers.

"Alright, let's move out."

Each soldier slid through the hole in the table, and into the capsule. Knowles was the last one to pile in.

"We'll have a replacement table sent to you in about a week," he said, sounding chipper. "And, hell: if I'm in a good mood, maybe I'll send you a free meal with it. The food on this street is good, right?"

The transmitter capsule door shut behind him and screeched as it made its descent. Though, for the first time, it left Dice with true terror

Once Dice was sure that they were gone, he called up the capsule with his keypad, and made his own descent.

…

Dozens of equations ran past Dice's eyes. He struggled to answer each one. Each time he missed one, he received an electric shock that left his hand tingling.

The equations subsided into darkness. His left hand was limp. The darkness flickered, and he watched paragraphs of information speed by his eyes. Then, questions. Too many questions. Too many shocks.

Finally, rows of code streamed by. A firewall to a computer's security... Dice rearranged the code, bypassing it.

He hadn't been fast enough. A crown of electricity lapped at his head.

There was a beep. The bowl on his head unlatched, and he was free to the cold light of his containment tube. The tick-marks on the glass mocked him. How much longer would they get?

Dice's stomach churned. The ground was pulled out from underneath him. He hit the ceiling. The tube must've been turned upside down.

Suddenly, the ceiling was gone as well.

Darkness swallowed Dice. He groped aimlessly at the air. He wheezed as he hit the ground.

Was it the ground? A chasm flared below him in a series of murky green lights. Rows of iron tubes lined it, and a thin metal pathway was paved between them.

He stood up. He was floating in midair. Walking. His eyes followed the green trail. It seemed to go on forever. What was it?

He crouched down and pressed down his hand. His fingers left a streak on the air. His knuckles rapped against it. Glass. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

He lurched forward as a creak broke through the air. The chasm below him slid away. Or, was he sliding away from it?

There was a snap. Dice looked behind, to see a spotlight hovering over something. A series of spikes were built into a wall, grinding into one another. He recoiled as a chunk of metal fell into it, a screeched as it was torn to pieces.

The shredder was coming closer. No — he was coming closer. The glass was drawing him in.

His legs pumped and his heart pounded. He had to run. His lungs burned and his vision went hazy. No matter what, he couldn't let himself stop. He had to keep going.

Keep running.

Chapter 10:

The capsule shuddered to a stop and bleeped as it demanded a password for entry. Dice tore open the keypad, fiddled with the wires, and then put the keypad back in its place. The door opened.

Dice coughed as he was hit by a wave of smoke. He wafted it away with his arm. Leaving the capsule, he kept his steps soft and his gaze warily darting around. Everything was a matte gray. As his eyes strained, he squinted.

He walked through a narrow platform. Boiling water tanks, fizzling generators, and massive pumps towered around him. Their rotors clicked smoothly as they churned up and down. Dice smacked his lips, and grimaced. The air tasted bitter. A thick smoke rolled from the tops of the generators.

Dice sprinted down the platform and scanned each machine. There was only one that he needed to find.

Steam gushed out of the ceiling. Fire leaped from one machine to another. Dice jerked back when a stream of water dumped onto the floor in front of him. Though, once he made it far enough down the platform, the chaos subsided. He slowed to a stop.

There was a cluster of several high-pressure tanks. Each one was the size of Dice's apartment room, and had a large tube feeding into it from the ceiling. From the vacuums of each apartment.

Dice turned up his aid and put his ear up against them. They each only gave a soft hissing, until Dice reached the fourth one. There was the sound of something rattling against its metal shell. Dice ran to a lever at the end of the row of tanks, yanking it down. The hissing stopped.

Dice went back to the fourth tank. There was a little door in the front of it. Its latch creaked as Dice turned it. The latch jammed. Dice jiggled it, before finally raising his leg and kicking the door open.

"Hello?" Dice shouted into the hole.

Liquified steam plinked from the tank's ceiling and onto its floor. Dice raised his voice.

"Hello?!"

Something glinted inside of the blackness. It came closer. Matches' eyes.

Dice leaned into the hole, pulled Matches out, and ripped the breathing apparatus off of Matches' face. Matches gulped in the smoky air as if it were her first breath in years.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Matches asked with a cough, once she'd regained her balance don the platform. "I felt like I was going to die in there... In fact, I think that I almost broke one of my arms on the way down. My good arm."

"Sorry," Dice said, disgruntled.

"You saved my life. You better be sorry," said Matches.

Matches laughed, and Dice offered a fake laugh in turn.

"Well, thanks for that," Matches said, patting Dice on the back. "Probably would've died tonight without you."

Dice glared at Matches. Matches held her cheery expression, but Dice's thoughts went back to Knowles. There must've been more going on in Matches' head than she was letting on. Dice raised an eyebrow and looked away.

She couldn't possibly be that oblivious to the surrounding danger, could she?

"Glad that I'm out of there," Matches said, rubbing her right arm. "It was cramped in there. Could hardly breathe."

"Tough luck. You weren't the only one," said Dice.

There was a twinge down Dice's back. A phantom knife slid down it. Dice shivered.

Matches frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I was tackled onto the ground, and nearly arrested. I thought you said those people were supposed to be hitmen?"

Shrugging, Matches sped toward the capsule transmitter.

"Sorry. Should I have called them friends, instead of hitmen?"

"They were U.R.O soldiers," Dice said, his voice raising. "You lied to me."

Matches smirked.

"Tough luck."

Dice blinked and tried to study Matches' face. Matches' head jerked away to avert his gaze. Despite this, Dice caught a hint of worry lining her brow.

"Captain Knowles says that he wants me dead," Dice said. "He wants you dead too. I have the right to know why... Tell me why."

Matches clawed at the controls to the capsule transmitter. She'd said nothing and everything at the same time.

Dice's eye twitched. The case files of the MDPD flashed through his head. His head pounded. He leaned onto a machine and tried controlling his breathing.

"What have I done?"

He looked Matches dead in the face.

"You should be in prison," Dice said.

Matches' eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

"The government and the MDPD have been looking for a suspicious person living on this street," Dice said. "I was one of the officers responsible for finding them. I convicted a sewage bot who seemed suspicious. But... All this time..."

Matches chuckled, unfazed.

"Look at that: a cop helping out a convict. What are the odds?" Matches chuckled again. "Then again, I guess you won't be a cop for much longer."

Rage rose in Dice's chest. How could she be so indifferent?

"Do you realize what this means?" said Dice. "This is the end of my career. Everything that I've ever worked for."

"Yeah, I think that's what I just said," Matches said, drawing her words out. She paused to bang on the capsule door again. "Enjoy leafing through help wanted ads... If you're not held in a prison first."

Dice's neck tightened, and his fists clenched.

"If it's any consolation, maybe they'll put you in a prison in the Balcombe District," Matches said. "The weather there is a dream, and I've heard the facility is staffed with massage bots. God knows you could use one of them."

Dice scowled as Matches turned around and gave a sheepish grin.

"Anyway, could you help me get this thing open?"

The capsule transmitter stopped at Dice's floor. Matches climbed up the ledge, and through the hole in the table.

"I like what you've done with the place," Matches said.

Dice followed after Matches.

"Glad you like it," Dice said, coldly. "Because, you won't be staying here for much longer. Figure out what you're going to do to get away from these people, and then leave. Our little team-up? It never happened."

Dice stared at Matches, intensely. Matches sat in one of Dice's chairs, keeping her smirk on her face.

"Yeah — not going to happen," Matches said, spinning around. "I do, in fact, have a plan... I'd like to take a vacation across the U.R.O's border, and into the Kelvin Union. Heard about the place?"

Dice swallowed. The name left a fetid stain on his apartment. The Kelvin Union was a hotbed of deplorables. Robots had overrun the nation and driven it into the ground. There were even murmurings that Kelvin was waging a secret war with the U.R.O.

Matches nodded.

"I'll take that as a yes. Anyway, getting there is the teensy problem I've run into. My solution? It involves you and your police job. See, I'm going to need one of those special fighter jets that you guys zip around in."

Dice wanted to retort, but... Couldn't. He couldn't do anything. Matches locked her eyes onto Dice's, and Dice was locked in his place. Something reachid into his mind. It brushed against the walls of his skull and spun the room around. It froze time. It sped it up. Then, it left altogether, and Dice realized that he'd just gone a whole minute without being able to breathe.

Face red, he clutched his throat and took in a deep breath.

"What... Was that?" Dice wheezed. His forehead throbbed as he stroked it.

Matches' face went grim.

"That's a sample of what I can do," she said. "I can break into a person's mind... Ransack it... Turn it to mud. I'll admit though — some minds are very resistant. Yours, for example, kept me from being able to let you breathe."

Dice's heart fluttered, and his stomach churned.

"That's impossible."

"I guess you're going to have to redefine what you consider impossible."

Matches gave Dice a light punch in the arm.

"Don't touch me," Dice said. "I like to keep a bubble of personal space."

Matches laughed.

"I just broke into your mind... And you're upset that I touched you?"

Dice narrowed his eyes.

"Never break into my mind again."

"I don't want to go in your mind again myself. Do you ever clean up in there? That said... If you don't help me? Well... I might just need to."

Smarminess oozed from Matches. It was in her greasy hair, her overused smile, and the false confidence in her posture.

"Is that a threat?" Dice asked.

"It's whatever it needs to be, buddy. I'm just asking for a bit of help to get from point A to point B. If you can't scrounge up the kindness in your heart to give that help, then you've forced my hand."

Dice shook his head as his face furled in disgust. Though, his mind still felt as if had been put in a blender. Did he have much choice?

As it was: would it really be so bad to help?

"You'll be helping somebody who's been royally screwed over," Matches said, as if reading his mind. Was she? "These mind powers? I was born with them. U.R.O officials have known about them for years. Been chasing me, just because I turned out a little different from everybody else. And, once I am in their custody? They intend to turn me into a weapon..."

Pain flashed through her eyes.

Dice's brain swirled from when Matches had reached inside of it. Though, it swirled for a different reason now too. Senses of hatred and sympathy for Matches bashed against one another, leaving everything murky.

Matches let her shoulders relax and leaned back in her chair with a deep exhale. Dice scowled. If only he could feel so easy.

"Fine," Dice said, through clenched teeth. "Not that it was much of my choice in the first place..."

"Good," Matches said, plainly. "Now, before we get started, there's one more thing I'd like to put out there: I think the U.R.O tagged me with a tracker at some point. They never seem to know exactly where I am, but they seem able to pinpoint a rough estimation of my whereabouts."

"You can't shut this tracker off?"

"Don't know where it is, and I don't know how they could've put it on me. It must be some kind of nano-tech. What I know for sure is this: whenever I go anywhere, a U.R.O military squad isn't far off."

Dice bit his lip. As he looked up at the ceiling, he realized just how heavy his eyes were.

. . .

The upholstery was rougher than he remembered. The air was stuffy. The walls to the transport car closed against him. The black sheet of night outside the car window compounded on this claustrophobia.

Dice shifted in his seat and looked around. He hid his head in his hands. Everybody was staring at him, lips curled and brows furrowed.

"What's their problem?" Matches mumbled.

Dice elbowed Matches in the gut and offered the passengers a desperate look, as if to apologize. Their faces only twisted from annoyance to revulsion. Dice's head hung to his feet. He couldn't blame them. Matches was dressed in a ragged bodysuit, patterned with grime. It was in sharp contrast with the car's sterile air and bleached carpeting.

The transport tube passed through its third tunnel. Dice's hand hovered over his badge as he leaned into Matches' ear.

"When we get there, don't say anything, don't do anything — don't even think anything. I'll handle it all."

His eye was twitching like mad. He leaned back in his seat and took deep breaths. As the car screeched to a halt, a mischievous grin spread across Matches' face. Hopefully she was just toying with him. That had to be it.

Either way, he had to stay calm. The admissions robot was already screening all of the passengers. He watched as several of them walked off dejectedly. By the time the robot reached him, the car had been entirely emptied.

Muscles in his neck tightening, Dice raised his badge.

"She's with me," Dice said, gesturing to Matches. "She... Umm... She's being brought in for questioning."

The robot nodded stiffly, then whizzed away. The floorboards rumbled as the engine kicked back on. The department's entrance wall opened.

Air poured through the car's door. Dice and Matches stepped out, and into the garage of the police department.

Dice's footsteps made small tremors. He cleared his throat and listened as the sound bounced down the hall. It kept bouncing, reaching beyond the garage's night lights. His eyes widened. Had the garage grown since he'd last been in it?

Matches gawked as she approached a police drone.

"Not yet," Dice said, sprinting toward her.

Dice snapped his finger — though, as he did, his finger rammed into the drone and an alarm went off. Sweat beaded down his face. He sped toward the entrance to the locker rooms.

"Didn't I explicitly say that you couldn't touch anything?" Dice hissed.

"I didn't touch anything."

"Might as well have."

Dice's shoulders tensed and his eyes sagged as he scanned the numbers of the lockers. Even as he turned down his hearing aid, the alarm wailed at his eardrums. Just his luck.

When he reached his locker, he fumbled around through the drawers of his locker until he found a key.

"That looks useful," Matches said.

Dice scoffed.

"That's one word for it."

They sprinted back down the locker room.

"You have flown one of these police drones... Right?" Matches asked.

"Since when was I the one flying it?"

They stopped at the locker exit. Dice tossed the key into Matches' hands.

"This is where you and I split up."

Matches pursed her lips, and her eyes flitted among the lockers. She'd thought that he'd somehow change his mind, hadn't she?

Dice pressed open the locker room entrance. There was a whoosh. The light of the garage spilled into Dice's eyes. Then, streams of electricity.

"Dice Raymond, you're under arrest for committing treason against the U.R.O, attempting to steal government property, and colluding with a convicted felon."

The head of a plasma gun was shoved onto Dice's forehead. Dice looked up and found himself staring into the face of Deputy Haynam. Standing behind Haynam were several officers — accompanied by Professor Cassius.

Haynam clenched his teeth, and made a cruel smile.

"I always suspected that you were secretly a weasel," Haynam said.

"Actually, I'm not so sure about that," Matches said. "My personal theory? He's secretly a robot."

Haynam didn't flinch, and an officer walked behind Dice. Matches made a grunt, undoubtedly from the officer shoving his own plasma gun into her head.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Raymond?" Haynam said.

"I'm thinking that I probably should've dressed better for the occasion," Matches said.

Dice heard the officer behind him knock Matches to the ground.

"Let your friend talk for himself, dammit," Haynam said, eyes unwavering.

Dice wanted to say something. Anything. But, nothing came out.

"Pretty clever of you," Haynam said. "You climbed the ranks of the U.R.O, out of obscurity... Gained a job on a covert government case that hardly anybody knew about... All so that you could ultimately assist the escape of one of the greatest convicts known to the U.R.O."

Haynam laughed and knocked Dice to the ground with the butt of his gun.

"You were almost clever enough to succeed," he continued, voice intensifying. "Unfortunately, you should've played your cards closer to your chest. The robot that you had us imprison? He was suspiciously innocent upon this evening's interrogation session. We had a U.R.O official give him a lookover, and he immediately questioned the legitimacy of this 'prime suspect' that you'd given us... Despite their initial reluctance to do so, the U.R.O sent out a search party for the true culprit. After that? Your whole plan completely unraveled.

"I figured it would only be a matter of time before you showed up here, so I rounded up some officers for your arrest... And, here we are."

Dice wanted to protest, but his mouth was dry.

"I'm sorry, Dice."

Dice flitted his eyes. Professor Cassius' eyes welled with pity. Cassius' apology replayed in Dice's head. Each time, Dice's head ached.

Professor Cassius had been the U.R.O official who'd outed him.

Dice looked away. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't.

"No need to apologize, Professor," said Haynam. "I think that a decade or two of mental reconfiguration will serve Mr. Raymond very well."

Dice dove deep into Haynam's eyes. Terror clawed at Dice's ribcage. There was no anger, or malice in Haynam. Yet, there was a flicker of courage — the drive to do the right thing.

Courage was more terrifying than anything else could've been.

"Haynam, I never planned for any of this," Dice said. "You know that I wouldn't do anything to betray the U.R.O."

"And yet, you've done everything."

Haynam's hands wrapped around Dice's wrists in an iron grip. Dice flinched as his arms were yanked behind his back and a pair of cuffs cinched around them. Dice fought against them, but felt something jab against his skin. He looked over his shoulder. Knives jutted out from the sides of the cuffs, and were steadily pressing inward.

"I like to call this toy 'the cuffs of life'," Haynam said. "The more that you struggle against it, the harder it gets."

"That's cute. You should become a poet," Matches said.

Haynam released his iron grip. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened to shout. There was a blast. Haynam landed in front of Dice with a thud. His eyes were empty. Soulless. His greasy smirk was gone, leaving his face a cracked mirror of its former self.

"Eh..." Matches said. "I suppose poetic justice is close enough."

Three more blasts. The officers in front of Dice fell. Cassius was the only person who remained. Dice could practically sense Matches' finger on the trigger of the plasma gun, preparing to fire.

"No! Don't!" Dice said.

There was a blast. Then a clang. The cuffs around Dice's wrists released and fell to the ground. Dice gave his arms a stretch in relief. Then he looked at Matches.

Stooping over the body of an officer, she had a wry grin on her face. Dice couldn't stop looking at the officer's face. It was stained purple.

"You really want to spare the old bird?" Matches said, turning to glare at Cassius.

Dice gave her a biting look.

"Alright, alright," Matches said, raising her arms. "Let's just get out of here then."

Matches ran past Cassius, and toward the police drones. However, Dice stayed and stared at the Professor, who stood in the center of the garage with a blank expression.

"Come on, Dice! We have to go!"

Dice didn't look up.

Everything that could've gone wrong had. He'd been caught. People had died. Cassius was disgusted by him.

Nothing could be the same after this. Nothing.

If only turning himself in were still an option.

"You'll have all the time in the world to stand around once you're in the cockpit of the drone. I'm not going to keep waiting for you."

An alarm blared. Matches was already climbing up the side of a drone. She'd be gone in a matter of minutes. Carried by a rush of adrenaline, and Dice sprinted toward her.

"I'm sorry too," Dice said, as he ran past Cassius. Cassius didn't flinch.

Dice's body trembled as he went up the ladder to the drone. He was so high up.

"Thank god!" Matches said, poking her head out of the cockpit. "I was worried that I was going to have to fly this thing myself."

There would be no going back down from this. This was it. His world... Everything he'd worked for...

"You never did answer my question earlier... Can you even fly one of these?"

Dice shook his head.

"There was a reason why I told you that you were going to have to fly it," Dice said.

"Nice. So, either you kill me, or I kill you."

"Well, when you put it that way, being the one to fly the drone doesn't sound half-bad..."

Dice sunk into the seat of the cockpit. A tapestry of panels of buttons and levers spread out in front of him. Trepidation ran through Dice's fingers as they hovered over each one and tried to determine the function. Finally, he came over a button labeled D.I. — Drone Intelligence.

Pressing it, Dice activated a holographic computer interface. He routed it for the U.R.O,'s border and the drone hummed the kick of the ignition. Dice's stomach twisted as Cassius shrunk to a blip on the tarmac. Then the tarmac fell away altogether. They were airborne. The drone flew through the exit of the garage, and into the sky.

"Yes! Liftoff! Finally!" Matches said.

Dice put his head in his hands. An acidic sludge climbed up his throat.

"What's wrong? We made it! We're alive!"

"I hate heights..."

"That would've been nice to mention before we were airborne. This is going to be a long one thousand kilometers..."

Dice couldn't disagree. A mess of streets and tubes rushed beneath him. Wisps of clouds and smoke brushed past the window. They were already among the peaks of the tallest buildings in the Monterey District. Yet, even as their dazzling lights danced through the air, Dice felt nothing more than wave after wave of nausea.

"I know this might be cruel, given the circumstance... But, this is a beautiful view," Matches said, stepping next to the control chair.

Dice gave another glance out the window, and then groaned. His eyes fell to the floor.

"It's definitely a view..."

There was a beep. Though, Dice couldn't bring himself to look back up.

"We're not going to be able to enjoy it for much longer if you let this thing crash into the side of a building..."

Matches lugged Dice out of the control chair and placed him in the back seat. Yet even back there, far from the window, Dice's head throbbed. He couldn't get Cassius' face out of his head. Or, worse yet, Haynam's face. Stiff. Lifeless.

Haynam was technically no more than a mess of tissue and cells. His feelings for Haynam was nothing more than a result of instinct. Social conditioning. However, the headache his death brought still wouldn't leave.

Why wouldn't it leave?

"Why do you already have it set for the border of the Kelvin Union? We're still going to need to stop to fuel, as well as for a checkpoint..."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"I'm resetting the course for the Gordon District. Don't mess with it. There's... Something that I need to get from there."

The Gordon District? The name was vaguely familiar. A good amount of energy packets had the district's name printed on them. Though, aside from fuel, what could Matches possibly need from there?

"You want to play a game?" Matches asked, turning around.

Dice frowned.

"It could probably take your mind off things."

"Sorry... I don't play games."

Matches raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing?"

"Well, I guess I'm a bit of a chess player."

Matches burst out laughing.

"That ancient game?"

"And what do you play?"

Matches pulled up her sleeve, revealing a box. She pulled out a flexible slip of metal and glass, and it lit up blue. A card.

"I can play anything with these," she said. "Name a game, and I know it."

She smirked slyly.

"Especially anything that involves gambling... Am I right?"

Matches shrugged and turned back to the window.

"Can't say you're wrong."

"Anything involving cards is a fool's game... 10% skill, 90% luck. Me? I'm not too fond of luck. If I'm going to play a game, I'd prefer to be able to make my own luck."

"Good for you, then. Enjoy playing chess by yourself."

"And enjoy playing cards by yourself."

"I will."

Matches reshuffled the deck and began playing card tricks. After an extended silence, Matches chuckled.

"You know, I haven't had a fight like that in months," Matches said. "Honestly, I didn't think that I was going to make out of that one alive."

Dice careened to the side as Matches looked up from her cards and had the drone take a sharp turn.

"How did you manage to beat that officer, anyway?" Dice asked. "You had a plasma gun pointed right at your head."

"I did. But... It wasn't hard to snatch the gun, and get the officer in a chokehold... I just needed to be fast and quiet about it."

Dice nodded his head. He tried filling in the pieces in his head but it didn't quite fit. Moreover, Matches' response had been unusually slow and humorless.

"Have you had combat training?" Dice asked.

Matches paused.

"In a way, I guess I have," said Matches. "I've learned most of what I know on the go, though."

"You killed five officers."

Matches smiled to herself.

"It is pretty impressive, isn't it? I was really lucky though. It doesn't always work out that way for me... I needed you to save my neck in the alleyway, for example."

Dice shook his head.

"I wouldn't call the deaths of five officers lucky."

Matches frowned at Dice.

"Come on..." she said. "I didn't have any other option. It was life or death. Besides: those people were practically robots. It didn't matter if they died."

Dice closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. Matches was right.

Dice didn't feel right.

It was probably just the motion sickness.

…

Stray strands of code ran by Dice's eyes. Then, they faded to black. The helmet around Dice's skull unlatched and reeled up into the air.

Dice slammed his head against the wall of his tube. It had been weeks of electric shocks, analysis, darkness, and running on the glass floor.

His bones ached. His head spun. He couldn't get the image of running on the glass floor out of his head — looking down on the ground, so far below, knowing that the glass under his feet could shatter at any time.

His heart thumped. Something thumped on the glass of his tube. Dice curled into a ball and hung his head between his knees. Though, the thumping continued.

Dice pressed his face against the glass and squinted. Just inky blackness. Was it all just in his head?

The glass went up and Dice stumbled out of his tube. A narrow hall brushed against each of his sides. Walking forward, Dice heard the glass wall go back up and something move toward him.

"Who's there?" Dice shouted.

Somebody clucked their tongue.

"So many people..."

A glare flashed. Dice shielded his eyes and looked down the hall. Dozens of people were lined down it, all who looked like himself — sickly, tired, ragged.

"You have all been chosen," a voice echoed. "Now, don't make me regret my choice."

Dice ran toward one of the people down the hall. Maybe they knew what was going on. Maybe they could help. Maybe he could help them.

Shocks of electricity tore down his back. Dice's limbs went stiff. His vision blurred.

The last thing he felt was the ground bashing against his chin.

Chapter 11:

"Dice!"

Dice groggily rubbed his eyes and looked around. The seating area was pitch black — the lights had been shut off to conserve power. Dice turned to look at the control area. Sheets of yellowish acid pelted down on the window. Straining his eyes, Dice was able to make out several spire smokestacks shrouding the skyline. He squinted but there was no seeing past the smokestacks, nor the ground below. The clouds were too thick.

A rock plummeted through his chest. He didn't even know how far away he was from the Monterey District anymore. Nothing made sense. He shouldn't have been here. Yet, he was.

He pulled his badge out of his pocket. There was still grime on it, leftover from the sludge of the alleyway. He brushed some of it away with his thumb, revealing the M.D.P.D lettering underneath. It almost seemed to taunt him.

"Sorry," Dice said, shoving his badge back into his pocket and holding back a yawn. "Three nights without a sleep-tube hasn't been good to me..."

Matches didn't respond, and instead took the drone into a nosedive. Dice gripped the armrests of his seat and closed his eyes.

"I thought the objective was to stay airborne. What are you doing?" Dice said.

"Trying to get us not killed," Matches said. "Of course, I might be working against myself here."

Dice pulled himself out of his seat and made his way toward the cockpit. Struggling to keep his balance, he clung to metal railings lining the ceiling.

"Whatever you do, don't puke all over the dashboard," Matches said, eyes still focused out the window.

"Could you explain to me what's going on?" Dice said. "Communication is key to successful interactions."

"Gee, thanks for the info," Matches said, grunting as she pulled the drone up. Dice flinched as the drone's belly grazed the ground and rose back into the air.

They were surrounded by mountain after mountain of scraps and waste. The sight almost made him sick. Though, as Matches pulled the drone further up, Dice was reminded what true sickness felt like.

"I think we lost one of them," Matches said.

"Lost one of what?"

"One of the military fighters. It's probably scanning the ground, looking for the remains of our drone. My guess is that there's too much background noise on the ground down there for their trackers to work."

Dice tried taking Matches' seat in the cockpit, but Matches wouldn’t budge.

"We were being chased by a military fighter?" Dice asked, trying to remain calm.

"No. We're being chased by military fighters. Plural."

Dice peered out the window and checked the rear-view camera footage but couldn't see anything.

"And, you think that we lost them?"

"Only one of them. There have to at least be three others. Very advanced stealth vehicles. Might've even turned invisible. But, they're definitely there."

Beads of sweat formed on Dice's brow.

"Where are we?"

"Not in the Monterey District anymore, that's for sure. Check the map. I don't have time for questions right now."

The navigator on the dashboard had them placed somewhere within the Genoa District. No — not just somewhere. Right in the center.

Dice went queasy.

"We're in 'the pit'," Dice said.

"I figured. Of all the places for us to be caught in, it just had to be here..."

Matches jerked one of the levers, sending the drone into a barrel roll. Dice slammed into the ceiling, the wall, and then back into the floor. An explosion went off. Dice turned down his hearing aid as his ears began to ring.

"They're launching detonators now?" Dice said. He didn't bother masking the tremor in his voice.

"That, or really bright fireworks."

Matches struggled to regain control the plane as they flew through a ball of smoke and fire. Dice teetered into a wall. He snapped back. Despite the wall's protective layering, the fire's heat had been emanating through it.

Dice's eyes went to the rear-view cameras. Still clear. Nothing on the radar either.

"You're going to get us killed if you pull one of those moves again," Dice said.

Matches snickered.

"It's either that, or we get blasted by one of the detonators."

Dice stared across the vast mass of clouds and smoke. His jaw clenched. His stomach tightened.

"I'm taking the controls."

Matches' eyes widened.

"Sorry flight attendant, but you don't get to fly today. Or ever."

Dice spun the chair around and dumped Matches out. Seizing the controls, Dice boosted the drone over a field of clouds.

"You have no idea how to fly an aircraft!" Matches said.

"And you do?"

"The difference is that my insides aren't going to spill all over the interior of the drone."

Dice shook his head.

"You get any closer to a detonator than you did last time, and I'm not so sure about that. Besides: I've had more experience with computers than you." Dice paused to give partial control back to the A.I and shift the drone back into balance. "Even if I don't have experience with this particular kind of aircraft, I think I should be able to figure things out fast enough. I just — I just need to stay low, to the clouds."

"You just need to stay conscious..."

Dice's eyes flicked from side to side as he looked for any sign of the fighters. The air was clear. The sun was visible. There were no shadows. Though, there was a streaky cloud to his left and right— they parted unnaturally. Dice sped the drone up, but the streaks only seemed to follow.

"They're on each side of us," Dice said. He checked his rear-view camera. "One of them is behind us as well."

Matches scrunched her eyes.

"How—?"

"I can just tell."

"You can go faster than them, right?"

"The drone can only go so fast. It's already near its top speed. And, we don't have any weapons on board. I'm thinking of diving back to the ground."

"That's not going to work twice — especially not if you're the one flying."

Dice tried weaving through the air and maneuvering between the thin streaks in the clouds. They blocked him at every turn.

"I should be able to outmatch them," Dice said. "I'm good at playing chess. I just need more time..."

Matches rolled her eyes and walked to the back of the drone.

"If we take any more time, they'll send another detonator at us," she said.

There was a clatter as Matches rummaged around. Dice knocked away an airborne food packet from the dashboard.

"Stop. You're going to put a hole in the window," Dice said.

"That's kind of the idea."

Matches' footsteps came back up behind Dice. She shoved a helmet over his head.

"I can hardly see."

"Get used to it."

Fear pumping through his veins, Dice adjusted the helmet's visor. Matches was walking up to the drone window with her own helmet on and a plasma gun. Dice's mind was cloudy. He tried looking around Matches, but Matches obscured the entire window.

"Where did you get the gun, and why do you have one?" Dice asked.

"I kept it after fighting one of the officers," Matches said. "I was saving it for when we were in a pinch... Now seems as good a time as any."

Dice went to retort but was drowned out by a bang and the shattering of glass. He was flung back in his seat as acid and the rush of wind ripped through a fresh hole in the window. Dice tried shouting. He tried moving out of the way of bits of glass. Though, he was petrified.

Matches leaned the window and started shooting in the direction of the fighter planes. Acid obscured the visor of Dice's helmet, but he made out vague sparks as orbs of energy blasted the planes.

Several more blasts. One of the planes' invisibility shields went down. The plane's side was enveloped in flames, and it began careening toward Dice. On instinct, Dice thrust the drone upward. Matches tumbled to the back of the plane. There was a dull crash as the two fighter planes collided.

"We did it," Matches said. "I'm going to need my right arm in a sling... But we did it!"

Dice felt the urge to give a sigh of relief, but kept his eyes narrowed in on the maelstrom of wind and acid.

"I'm going to need to fly higher."

"Why?"

"Third fighter plane. Still behind us."

Matches groaned.

"Oh. Right."

Dice pulled up, letting the rain and wind thrash at him. Pools of acid rain sloshed around below him. He maintained his ascent. He looked at his altimeter — the drone had raised a few hundred meters in the air. Though, in his rear camera, there was still a vacuous funnel where sheets of rain should've been.

"I know the plane is still following us, but we're going to need to go down," said Matches. "The air pressure is rising."

"Can't you try shooting at them from out the back?"

"The thrusters are back there, and there are no windows for me to shoot through. Not to mention, I've used nearly all of the energy in the plasma gun."

Dice was going to ask Matches to try anyway, but there was a bleep. Then, another.

Another.

He looked down. The radar detected a gun being aimed at them.

Dice raised the plane even higher, then jerked one of the levers to put the drone in a barrel roll. Nothing happened. A blue film hugged the windows. Time slowed to a halt. Zero-point energy.

The interior of the drone quaked. There was a clap. Thunder? It couldn't be. The rain and wind had stopped...

The nose of the drone dipped. Then, the blue film disappeared. Rain, wind and time returned in a fury as they began losing altitude. Dice throttled his levers, but to no effect. The drone had gone completely rogue.

"Dice!" Matches said. "Dice, stay calm! We can get out of this!"

Dice turned around. Matches was still holding onto a chair but was covered in bits of dust and metal. One of her hands were pressed to her forehead.

In the back of the drone there was a gaping hole. Flames licked its sides. Outside the hole, a chunk of the drone's wing spun aimlessly in the air.

Dice wiped his own forehead. He could feel stress soaking through his skin. Smell panic. Taste oncoming catastrophe. His mind buzzed.

"Dice, turn off the ignition! The primary engine has already exploded! The secondary engine will too, if you keep it on!"

Hands gravitating toward the ignition, Dice drifted in and out of consciousness. He suddenly realized how high in the air he really was. How hard it would feel when he hit the ground.

His fingers were brittle. As he tried to turn the ignition off, their grip faltered, and his hand fell to his lap. A tingling sensation spread through his body. It started out in his shoulders. Then, through his arms. His legs.

Wind had plastered Dice to the back of his seat. He was numb. His head nodded, then sagged to the side.

"Dice!" Matches shouted, from somewhere high and far away. Dice thought that he could feel Matches' hands grip his skull. Reach into his mind. Though, this feeling flickered away as quickly as it came. Soon, all that Dice could see were clouds. Dark clouds. Dark, swirling clouds.

He plunged into the blackened eye of the storm. Then, nothing.

Chapter 12

"Something!"

Dice started up from his seat, with a jolt. He moaned. His vision was blurred. He tried lifting his arms, but they'd gone fuzzy. When he went to close his lips, he found they were chapped and caked with scabs. He must've been breathing through his mouth for too long in his sleep.

Tying to breathe through his nose, Dice gave another moan. It burned. Pools of blood had clogged it. He choked as some of the blood slid down his throat.

"Say something! If you're with me, say something!"

Dice tried turning, but a muscle in his neck stiffened in protest.

"Matches?" Dice asked, with a cough.

"It's about time you said something!"

Matches pulled Dice's helmet off. His vision was clear again.

Yet, the world around was murkier than ever.

The interior of the drone was crumpled and deformed. Some of it even looked as if it'd melted into itself, and then hardened back. The dashboard was reduced to a dozen pieces, the windows were gone, half the roof was peeled away, and the seats had been uprooted from their place.

Dice was sitting in the back of the drone. Though, aside from the gaping hole created by an imploded engine, it'd received less damage than any other part of the drone.

"You're going to heal real ugly... But, at least you're alright."

Dice blinked. Matches was now staring him right in the face. Her eyes were wide with concern. However, what Dice noticed most that Matches didn't have any notable injuries of her own.

"It's good we both made it out of that," Dice said.

"Yeah," Matches said "I think that I fared better than you."

Dice wiped away a streak of blood rolling down his chin.

"I definitely could've turned out better..."

Dice looked closely at Matches. The creases along her forehead. The creases between her eyes. What was hidden there? Guilt? Fear?

"Stop looking at me like that, will you? No wonder you have no friends..."

Matches started moving around loose bits of the plane.

"For drones, these things sure can go out of control easily," Matches said.

Dice studied Matches for a little while longer, before giving up.

"Certainly," Dice said. "What happened to get me here, anyway?"

Matches moved around a few more pieces of metal, making a clear passageway to the exit of the drone, before clearing her throat.

"Well, if you really need a refresher, it all started in an alleyway a few days ago..."

"I might've gone unconscious, but I'm not suffering from amnesia."

"Just checking," said Matches. Her eyes turned up to the remaining patch of ceiling. "So, right after you went unconscious? The fighter kept trying to shoot at us. I had to take you out of the control chair and strap you to the back of the drone — you weigh a literal ton, by the way — as quick as I could. The drone spun out of control after that, and I didn't think that I'd be able to get back in the control chair. Somehow though, I did, and regained control..."

"Judging by the current state of the plane, I'm not so sure you did."

Matches gave a glare.

"Very funny... Where was I? Oh, so after gaining some amount of control, I turned off the ignition and tried to keep our plane in a steady descent for the ground. Once I'd passed through a cloud of smog, the fighter jet stopped chasing me — whoever was flying probably didn't think descending into the smog was worth losing their signal. After that? I had to try landing the drone. And, well — I didn't do a good job of it... The airbag saved me, but you weren't so lucky. I've been spending the past few hours trying to revive you."

Dice nodded, and tried stretching his arms. Looking out the hole in the drone, he saw it had already sunk into the mound of scraps they'd landed in. They were steeped deep in "the Pit".

Beyond the drone, the sea of trash and scraps was near-endless. Bits of robotic heads. Metal arms. Wires. Doors. Walls of long-dead buildings. It wasn't just a dump. It was a graveyard. The only silver-lining was that the acid rain was no longer raining from the skies, and the clouds weren't as thick.

Dice eyed the melted bits of their drone again.

"The drone has been exposed to this environment for three hours?" he asked.

Matches nodded.

"It doesn’t look like it'll be able to withstand it for much longer," Dice continued. "The acid rain... It's eventually going to decompose it into nothing. We probably won't be protected from the next rainfall. Our protective suits aren't going to be able to protect us for long either, since they've already been exposed once."

Matches kicked at one of the loose rods of metal on the ground and bit her lip.

"So what do we do? Leave the drone and find some other piece of trash to hide in?"

Dice shrugged. It was too much to think about at once. He needed to take his mind off of things for a minute. He reached into his pocket for his badge.

His fingers groped at empty cloth. His eyes widened.

"My badge! It's gone!"

Matches scowled.

"Didn't you hear a word that I just said?"

"You don't understand. My badge — it was important."

"It probably slid out of your pocket while we were still up in the sky... It's long gone by now. Now, can’t we focus on the task at hand?"

Dice stared off into the expanse of waste. His badge — the last thing tying him to his home — was out there. It'd be impossible to get it back.

"Hello? Dice, what are we going to do?"

Dice blinked and turned back to Matches.

"Looking for stronger shelter sounds about right. Should be simple enough."

Matches glowered over Dice, raised her hands and gave a deprecating laugh. Heat rose to Dice's face. Had she been the one to make their escape plan back in the Monterey District? Had it had been her who'd had made sure they narrowly survived at each turn?

"'Simple enough'?" Matches said. "That's rich! You're badly injured and need immediate medical attention. Worse yet, our navigation systems have gone out, due to all of the background noise that these trash heaps produce. Not to mention, we're still about hundred miles away from the Gordon District..."

"I have a solid sense of direction, and I remember our coordinates from before I went unconscious. I think that I should be able to get us through here."

Matches paced around the drone. It was as if she hadn't heard a word. She was so oblivious. So arrogant.

"Of course you're a great navigator," Matches finally said. "Because, you're just great at everything, aren't you?"

"Better than you are."

"I'm pretty sure that one of your legs are fractured. Good luck at beating me at walking."

Dice tried moving his left leg but felt dozens of daggers jab into it. He winced in pain. His chest fell. The horizon to the Pit stretched wider. How was he supposed to get across?

A hint of sympathy flash across Matches' face. She bent down into the pile of scraps and dragged out a metal tube.

"It's a makeshift splint I built out of the police drone's scraps, while you were unconscious," Matches said, throwing it into Dice's lap. "Kind of funny: the police district had you wrapped around your finger. Now? A part of their drone will be wrapped around their leg."

Dice clenched his jaw as he tightened the splint. He couldn't see what was supposed to be so funny.

"Thanks."

Dice shifted his leg again. The daggers were still there, but only as shadows of their former selves. He stood up. A jolt shot up his ankle. He pushed through it, and managed to take a few steps.

"The hobble is a good look," Matches said. "But, I don't know what we do if we end up needing to run from robots..."

Dice's eye twitched.

"There are active robots in the Pit? I always thought that it was just a rumor."

"When you've hopped around the U.R.O long enough, you learn that every rumor about this place has a hint of truth to it."

Matches went back to rummaging through the pile of scraps, before chucking two metal bars at Dice's head. Dice managed to catch them just in time.

"You could've put me in another coma," Dice said.

"I knew that you were going to catch them. Some reflexes you have there, eh?"

Matches' eyes narrowed as she stared at Dice. Dice returned the stare. She knew he had secrets. She could reach into his mind at any time. Yet, she didn't.

What secrets did she have?

The moment passed, and Dice remembered the heavy poles resting in his arms.

"Those are going to be your new crutches for now," Matches said. "Hopefully we'll run into a medical bot soon... In the meantime, we need to head out. The rain is going to rain whether or not we're moving."

Dice grunted as he pulled himself up and moved through the drone. The crutches were crudely shaped and scraped against the palms of his hand. One of the crutches slid as he attempted to take a step. A small shock coursed through him as he straightened the crutch and tried again. The crutches teetered, and he leaned on the weight of his bad leg. The knives returned. Dice collapsed on a nearby wall to pause and breathe, before trying all over again.

"They'll take some getting used to," Matches said.

Dice made a few more attempts but continued to fail. Finally, he went to the mounds of scraps. Though, as he did, his crutches sunk. He sunk. He yanked at the crutches but was only pulled in deeper. He was stuck.

Matches let her arms fall to her sides.

"Alright, clearly this isn't going to work..."

Matches pulled the crutches out of Dice's hands and hauled him over her shoulder. Dice held up as much of his own weight as he could with his good leg.

Matches trudged out of the drone, and through the wasteland. Dice hobbled along with her, trying to ignore his left leg. The faint rays of sun that made their way through the clouds burned the back of Dice's neck. There was so much smoke. Too much. His eyes went heavy. The muscles in his legs wore.

He could afford a break. He didn't need to keep fighting. He'd done so much fighting already. Besides, it would just be a short rest...

The minutes drawled by. Matches continued to trudge through the mess of scraps. The heaps of trash continued to reel them in. Swallow them whole. Yet, Matches lifted them through each time. Dice slipped in and out of consciousness. Matches groaned from the effort. She didn't stop.

"Come on Dice! If you don't start moving, we both die."

It had been at least two hours. Dice grimaced and bit his tongue as he picked up his feet.

"We still going in the right direction?" Matches asked.

Dice lifted his head to look around. His neck was still sore, and the back of it had begun to roast. Their drone was nowhere in sight. Only kilometers after kilometers of trash.

Without their drone as an anchor, they were just two small dots moving across a never-ending expanse.

Dice gave a feeble yes and put his head back down.

"Good," said Matches. "Because, I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Matches let go of her lock around Dice's neck. Dice stumbled toward the ground but tried to soften his landing with his arm. He let out a shout. The only thing soft about his landing had been the countless bruises still throbbing on his forearm.

Matches landed next to Dice, causing trash to fly into his face.

"I'm sinking into it," Matches said. She sighed. "I need some sleep. This could make a good bed, right?"

The clouds above them were getting heavier, and there wasn't a place to take refuge in sight.

"We could try digging under the scraps, right?" Dice asked.

Matches paused, before shaking her head.

"The acid will just leak through, no matter how far we dig. Besides: the acid can deteriorate layers upon layers of this trash..."

Dice noticed just how much a hardened gash on the side of his head hurt. He could feel his pulse pounding through it. Burning.

He closed his eyes. They just needed a short break. After that, they'd be back to it. They'd find somewhere before the rain started up again.

"We probably should've stayed in the drone," Matches said. "Hindsight is cruel..."

The trash crumpled as Matches rolled over. It crumpled again. Again, still.

"Stop rolling over," Dice finally said. "Just pick a position to lay in."

He turned to look at Matches but Matches just gave him a confused glare. She hadn't rolled over.

"What's that noise?" Dice asked.

Matches' eyes widened, and she sat up.

"I thought it was you."

She scrambled to her feet and pulled Dice from the trash heap. A faucet of trash fell to the ground in front of them. Dice looked up. The trash was pouring from the back of a cubed aircraft. A scrap-barge.

The trash stopped pouring from the barge and the barge flew away. The sound of crumpling remained. Then, it was replaced by a low rumble.

"So much for a rest," Matches said.

Matches dragged Dice behind her as she jogged through the piles of metal, while Dice's bad leg struggled to keep up with the pace.

"Calm down," Dice said. "The rumbling is probably just a robot, right?"

Matches' eyes flared.

"Oh, I hope not," Matches said. "That's the only way this situation could get any worse."

What was she talking about?

Matches kept trudging through the trash as quick as he could. Though, the faster Matches went, the less ground she covered. Or, was more ground covering her?

The terrain was getting steeper. Rougher.

A chunk of trash hurled toward them. Then, another. Dice looked behind to find a massive landslide of trash, all funneling toward a center pocket.

"We're in the middle of a pit!" Matches said.

Dice didn't know what that was, but he knew terror. Matches' voice was sopping in it.

Dice limped after Matches, arms flailing and his right leg pumping. His eyes were glued ahead. He couldn't look behind. His muscles ached the further he went. He didn't stop. As the ground steepened, the sinkhole in the pit was only becoming wider.

The chunks of trash tumbling down the side of the pit grew in size. Grew in frequency. A door hinge hit Dice in the face, and he careened backward with a fresh bruise. Matches narrowly gripped Dice by the arm.

Dice should've felt a rush of relief. A burst of anger. Anything. Though, as he looked back down to the pocket, a pocket formed in his gut. It'd widened into a gaping mouth, as more and more trash vanished into it. Its sides were folding into steep walls. Dice tried to speed up, but the ground gave way underneath his feet.

The air was an oven. His injuries were singing a fresh tune. The clouds had turned a stark black and sank low in the horizon. While the trash roared as it rolled into the hole, Dice prepared himself to join the roar.

"What are you doing? Move!" Matches said. "We're almost at the top!"

Matches was lying to herself. Dice could see it in her eyes. He could see it when he looked to the top of the heap. They were separated by a steep slope, and a metal wall that had risen from out of the heaps of trash. It was further away than it had been when they'd started.

Matches vaulted over a large desk as it slid their way. Dice tried jumping after her, only for his left leg to slip and cause him to slam his head. Blood rushed to his nose. The ground drew him further away. Matches' arm quaked as it fastened around Dice's and pulled him up.

The quaking stopped. Dice's forearm slipped through Matches' hand. The hole below came closer as Dice slid down. Rolled down.

Everything was spinning. The pit. The sky. His stomach. His thoughts.

Dice tucked in his arms and legs and went to snag a piece of trash. He missed. Pieces of trash snagged onto him. A rod tore through his bodysuit. A magnet ripped his leg brace away.

"Matches!" Dice called. "Matches!"

He finally crashed into the discarded remains of a sleep tube. The glass squealed as Dice wrapped around it with all of the life left in him. More trash slid by him, dumping into the pit below. There was too much of it. Why did there have to be so much?

"Woah!"

Dice snapped his head around, to see Matches tumbling down through the trash. Dice held an arm out. Tendons in Dice's arm strained as Matches grabbed on. Nevertheless, he held tight.

"You better not let go. You're holding my right arm — my good arm."

Matches pulled herself up to the sleep tube. Dice's eyes were on the pit. It was ballooning in size. He looked up and watched a speck of trash fall from the top of a wall, and then fall into the pit in a matter of seconds.

"Matches," Dice finally said. "What do you think is down there?"

"Death," she said, solemnly. Then, trying to inject levity into his voice, "Death, and outdated tax-collector machines — just like in hell."

Matches smirked up at Dice. Despite the feel broiling inside him, Dice smirked back.

Their trash slope moved faster. It turned to a landslide. Then, just a straight plummet into the pit. Air fled from Dice's lungs. Blackness encased him. Heat. A roar.

Dice turned his head, but Matches' silver eyes were gone. She'd disappeared.

How did she always manage to do that?

Dice jumped off his tube. He choked as he flailed toward other bits of trash. It was far too late to save himself. It didn't matter. He was willing to try anything, rationality be damned.

Dice grabbed a rusted plate and hugged it close to his chest. In a sudden jerk, the falling stopped. Dice hung in the air, dangling by one of his legs. His left leg.

Dice let out a shout of both relief and agony.

"Thank you," he whimpered to the blackness.

He rose into the air. Then, back to the light. Back to the walls of trash. Dice craned his neck upward, to find a barrel-shaped robot holding him by the leg.

…

Dice was grabbed around the throat. He opened his eyes. A metal arm protruding from out of a wall had him suspended in mid-air. He was in a pure black room, lit by a ceiling of fluorescent white lights.

"Welcome to the concentration chamber!" said a cheery voice, through unseen speakers.

The metal arm unlatched. Dice collapsed to the floor and gulped in air. He looked to his sides. He was standing among a new row of people completely coated in a black ooze. He looked down to his hands. He felt his face. He was coated in a black ooze too.

Thin glass screens cranked through slits in the ground, and in front of them. They lit up with a clean, buttery interface. A man's face flickered in the center of Dice's.

"You are all the peak of genetic potential," the voice continued. "You've been handpicked for your minds — they are beyond that of anybody else."

Two metal rods raised from out of the ground and locked around Dice's ankles.

"And, for what task have you been chosen?" The voice laughed. "Sifting through feeds of specimens in our infrastructure — determining whether they're genetically superior... Or inferior."

The image of the man on Dice's screen transitioned to a blurry camera feed of him in a glass tube. Two buttons lit up underneath the feed — green and red. "Genetically effective" and "genetically defective".

Sweat formed on Dice's brow. His pulse throbbed. The ooze tightened around his scalp, almost as if it could sense his fear.

"Remember: we desire peak accuracy in your judgements. Do not waver. Do not falter. Tell the truth. Only the truth."

Dice's finger hovered over the red button.

He pressed the green.

There was a screech. The glass screen descended back into its slit.

The ooze tightened around Dice's neck. He opened his mouth to breath, but only felt something crawl inside and suck it dry.

"Let this be a lesson to you all: Only honesty is effective. Follow the collective."

Chapter 13

"Thank you for rescuing me," Dice said. "It's much appreciated!"

The robot said nothing.

Maybe it just had a broken voice box.

The hole in the pit shrunk, until Dice had completely risen out of it. Dice went to touch the edge of the pit wall, and only narrowly missed. He was back on solid ground.

Though, the robot's ascent didn't stop. The ground fell away.

"Wait? Where are we going?" Dice asked, holding back a gag.

Still no answer. However, the robot halted ascent and veered forward. Dice studied the sky to determine their direction.

It was west. They were headed west.

Mounds of trash, which had seemed so intimidating just hours ago, flew past. Dice tried to determine the distance they'd covered, but it all went by too fast. His pupils stiffened as they surrendered to the blur.

The robot's engine whinnied as it slowed down. Not a moment too soon, either. Dice's head was pounding with the rush of blood, and his leg had gone numb.

Studying the ground, he saw that it was speckled with various other robots. It was a camp of some sort.

Dice looked at massive structure, made of metal plates and panels haphazardly welded together.

It was an ugly camp.

As Dice descended, the robots broke out in a series of clicks and hollow banging. There was massive variety among them. Cooking robots. Construction robots. Demolition robots.

All kinds. All outdated.

Their clamor didn't stop until he was dropped on the ground. His eyes bounced between them all. Were they happy for his arrival? Or, were they mocking him

"Did you secure another wanderer?" one of the robots asked. It was a top-heavy bot, suspended on two thick treads.

The thin robot that'd been carrying Dice landed on the ground next to it.

"Negative. Not just one. We stopped two of them from falling into a pit trap."

Dice scanned the crowd of robots. They must've rescued Matches too. She had to be hidden somewhere among them.

"They must be a pair of loose bolts, huh?" said the robot with treads. "I've even seen sewage bots with the intelligence to crawl out of those. It's been months since anybody has fallen into those traps, hasn't it?"

"Over a year, according to my records," said the thin robot, with a sharp click.

"I suppose this is long overdue then, isn't it?"

All of the robots inched toward Dice, forming into a circle around him. He was alone. Defenseless.

The sky murmured. There was a flash of lightning. Dice squirmed. He only had so much time before another acid rain.

"Thanks so much for bringing me to your wonderful abode," Dice said. "Though, could somebody inform me as to why I've been brought here?"

A taller robot, outfitted with pristine legs and delicate arms stepped out from the fray. How could a robot living in the Pit be in such good condition?

The robot emitted a high-pitched frequency, and the other robots stopped.

"I'm the head robot, AK29," the robot said. "This is our welcome ceremony, and you're our guest of honor."

Guest of honor? There was a screech as one robot unfurled a knife from its wrist. A thrum as another robot revved a flamethrower.

Dice's eyes widened. Robots could lie.

Dice scanned the swarm and tried finding an opening that he could slip through. There was a robot to his left, with a head connected to its body only by a thin wire. It would be easy enough to knock over — though, dodging the other robots would be another matter entirely.

"Thank you so much for the ceremony," Dice said, hobbling around the circle. "You're all wonderful pieces of machinery. I can't even begin to express how humbled I am in your presence. However, if this truly is a welcome ceremony, could I be directed to my friend?"

AK29 went to Dice's side and put an arm around him.

"Certainly."

It emitted another beep with the wave of its arm, causing a row of robots to open up. At the end of the row, there was Matches. She was several meters away, but dice could still read a look of trepidation on her face.

"Matches!" Dice said, feigning a charismatic grin. "It's just wonderful, isn't it? These robots have taken us in and decided to throw a ceremony."

Matches didn't bother playing along. Her eyes made a slight motion toward the crowd of the robots, and she gave a defeated shrug. Dice's smile faded. His face turned to stone as he reached the end of the row of robots, knowing all too well what was about to happen.

Just as Dice joined Matches, AK29 punched him from behind. Dice hit the ground. Several of the scabbed gashes on his arms were cut anew, and he could taste shards of metal in his mouth. Dice spat them out.

The robots clicked in unison. They started as a small tick in the back of his mind. Their clicking climbed from there, until it was pounding against the inside of his skull.

"All of these years of being ignored... Spited," AK29 said. "All caused by you humans. Do you know how much you've taken from us? Do you know how much it stings to be forced to dwell in your filth?"

Dice rolled over. The roof to the robot's massive warehouse was above him. Just beyond it, black clouds sunk toward the ground. They erupted with thunder. A fat drop of acid landed next to Dice's head.

A steely hand clasped around his head. Dice struggled and clawed, trying to escape its grip. He soon found himself dangling in the air. Pressure wrapped around his jaw and his temples. His eyes bulged.

"This domain of burning waste, pooled from dozens of nations... It was created to bring energy and commerce to your wilting 'districts'. Bring life. Yet, do any of you ever stop to consider the death that it has wrought on us? On the robots that create your districts? Your energy?"

There was a harsh scratch.

"You dump us here, thinking you can kill us all... Mine us for resources. I ask you this: would you ever sacrifice any of your own? Why is it that we must be destroyed when we become outdated, but you're constantly being enhanced? Why are your sad lives allowed to drag on, while ours are squelched in a blink?"

Dice looked to Matches for help, through the corner of his eye. However, just as he did, Matches was seized by AK29's other steely hand.

There was a rumble from out of AK29's throat.

"And now, we can finally initiate our 'ceremony'! Our retribution..."

The pressure intensified. The servos in the robot's hand whirred as they worked to push harder. They cracked and sputtered.

Finally, AK29 dropped him and Matches to the ground.

"Who wishes to go next?"

The world was just a buzz. However, Dice could make out dozens of high-pitched frequencies emitted by robots. The swarm was in a feverish craze.

"Matches?" Dice moaned.

A new robot grabbed him, this time by the hair. Dice kicked his legs. He grunted. His teeth against his tongue was the only thing that kept him from screaming.

Dice hit the ground again. Shards of glass were jammed in his skin. His bodysuit was left in tatters. As he pulled himself up, his left leg buckled. If it hadn't been for his brace, he would've fallen back to the ground.

There were more clicks from the robots. Cheers and claps joined the mix.

There was a thunderclap. Dice looked up. Another thunderclap, followed by a drop of acid. A dash of lightning. He jerked his head. He needed to make a dash of his own.

Dice stumbled forward. Matches was being stretched from head to foot by a robot with trunks for arms. Rage consumed Dice, and he rushed toward the robot.

Dice never managed a solid punch. He tripped before he could get within arm's reach. However, as Dice spat out his second helping of scraps, somebody punched the robot in his stead. It was somebody dressed in an armor, which seemed a patchwork of several metals. They disappeared into the crowd of robots before Dice could get a closer look.

The trunk-armed robot hit the ground with a satisfying crack. There were more cracks as the armored figure launched a flurry of attacks at the other robots. Dice's eyes remained on the robot on the ground. He crawled toward it. Matches must've been trapped under it. He needed to get there before any other robots did. It was only a meter away.

Something grabbed him from behind and pulled him up from the ground.

"You know, if your police job doesn't work out, you should really look into becoming a professional ragdoll."

It was Matches.

"Let's go," she said.

She yanked Dice's arm and pulled him through the web of robots. Dice closed his eyes and winced. They weren't going to make it through.

The raucous of clicking and screeching died off. Dice reopened his eyes. his heart skipped a beat. The robots stood still. Each one had turned to a statue, letting them by without so much as a noise.

"How?" Dice asked, gaping the frozen robots.

It didn't make any sense. It was as if time had stopped, to intervene on their behalf.

Dice waited for an answer but Matches kept her gaze on the army of robots. Intense concentration lined her brow, and her left hand pressed against the side of her head.

They passed through the crowd of robots and reached a hole in the ground big enough to crawl through. An entrance to a tunnel. Dice leaned to enter.

"Not yet," Matches said.

There was a crash. He snapped his head around and saw the armored stranger sauntering toward them. Matches pulled her hand from her head and dropped her gaze from the crowd of robots. The stranger glowered over her. Matches stayed in place and gave a resolute stare.

As the stranger glowered, Dice realized just how tall they were. He took a glance at their armor — it was more thrown together than he'd though. Holes and gaps fed throughout it, and rust lapped at the tips of its gauntlets.

"I've never seen anything like that happened to all of the robots..." the stranger said.

"I tripped on an EMP device in the scraps," Matches said.

"Must've been a big EMP device..."

An EMP device? Matches hadn't said anything about that earlier. Dice went to retort.

"Let's move," the stranger said, turning away from Matches.

Dice stopped himself. The stranger's voice was muffled from under their helmet, but low enough to tell it was a man's. Dice ogled at the stranger, waiting for him to give some kind of explanation. However, the stranger only knelt down and entered his tunnel.

Matches ducked to enter the tunnel after the stranger. Dice watched her, his eyes prodding for answers.

"Who is this person?" he finally hissed.

"I have no idea," Matches said, from inside the tunnel. "I saw him hiding off in the distance while one of the robots was flying me down into the little arena. That's all I know."

Dice stumbled into the tunnel and tried to keep quiet. It was a narrow space, carved out of piles of trash and discarded tech. An oily stench dominated it. The trash's grease trash rubbed onto his skin

"How did you shut off all of those robots?" Dice asked.

Matches made a face.

"I didn't. The stranger must've had a special device."

Dice narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

There was a creak. Dice raised his hearing aid and peered through the hole in the tunnel. A nearby robot's limbs swung in the wind.

They were about to reawaken.

"Speak of the devil," Matches said. "We don't have much more time."

She darted away. Dice tried to keep up his leg stiffly dragged behind him. The unlevel ground, and magnets constantly clinging to his brace only slowed him further.

"We're almost there," shouted the stranger's muffled voice from deep in the tunnel.

Dice made his way around a bend. Light was just off in the distance.

"And here I was thinking that it was going to take us another few weeks," said Matches.

It was the part where they were supposed to laugh. However, something was stuck in Dice's throat. His aid fizzled with static. It was followed by a dull echo. A whiz. A whir.

A high-pitched screech shattered his eardrums.

"They're coming," Dice said, turning his aid back down. "The robots have caught onto us!"

"Then, move faster!" the stranger shouted, gruffly.

Dice's legs were too weak, and his heart was pumping too fast, and the brace on his left leg snagged on a metal plate, and god... He was going to die in the tunnel, wasn't he?

Dice tried pulling his leg free. It crackled in a threat to break.

"You have a knack for falling over, don't you?"

Matches came up from behind Dice. She let out a heave as she gripped the plate wedged over Dice's leg and pulling it off him. Dice slid his leg out. A crimson scrape was left in the metal plate's wake. He readjusted his brace, hiding the scrap underneath. As he stood back up, a blade whizzed by his face and stuck into the wall of the tunnel. Shadows of several robots smeared across the tunnel walls. Their whirs were no longer distant echoes, but thunderous clangs.

"Move, move, move!" Matches said.

Dice staggered over bits of scrap, making his best attempt to run. He looked over his shoulder. The robots had already made their way around the bend. There were dozens of them, infecting every crevice. Dice shook off a chill running along his skin and hobbled faster.

He wasn't fast enough. He could never be fast enough. They'd reached the entrance to the stranger's cove. Its rays of light danced into his eyes. Matches let out a triumphant whoop.

One of the robots gripped around Dice's shoulder. It dug into his flesh. Its fingers were ice, leaving him numb. Dice closed his eyes and bit his cheeks.

"Look out!"

The ground rumbled. Something heavy fell just behind him, and the robotic hand released his shoulder. Dice opened his eyes. A large portion of the ceiling had fallen away. Ahead of him was the stranger, with a bulky cannon mounted over his shoulder.

"Stop looking behind and move your ass!"

A robot was trailing just behind him. Dice bumbled into the cove with Matches. Not wasting a moment, the stranger slammed the door shut. A shred of Dice's bodysuit was caught underneath and torn away.

Dice looked around. The walls and floor of the cove were still made up of scrap metal. Though, the room was furnished with various bits of technology that had been salvaged from the trash heaps. An old light system was installed into the ceiling, with loose wires running throughout it. One of the walls held what seemed to be a scrapped prototype for a computer projector. The entrance door was made up of various interlocking panels, assembled from what looked like demolished remains of buildings. In the center, there was a sleep tube that had been transformed into a display case for a gun.

"Next time you try playing hero, I'll shoot you instead of the ceiling!"

Dice whirled around and found the stranger glowering over Matches again. Matches' silver eyes narrowed as they locked with the slits for eyes in the stranger's mask.

"I have a fractured leg," Dice said, stepping in between them. "I wasn't going to be able to save myself."

A low laugh came from out of behind the stranger's helmet.

"As if I can't see that," he said. "But, whatever you did to get like that, you clearly earned. And, whatever fate you suffer because of your injuries is equally as earned."

Dice looked into the thin slits of the mask. With a strain, he could make out the eyes. Only the pupils — but they were there. Small, dark, and angry.

"Well, thank you for saving our lives and all," Matches said. "But, I and my friend should really go on our way."

Matches tried turning back to the entrance, but the stranger stood in her way and laughed again.

"It's going to be storming out there within minutes," he said. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it's already started. Besides: I'm not inclined to open that door at this particular moment."

Dice pressed his hands to his ears as a scrape resonated from behind the door.

The stranger let out a sigh, and strolled over to the sleep tube in the center of the room.

"On top of all this, I'm going to have to find a brand-new place to make my base of operations..."

Dice looked down, and saw that Matches had her fists clenched. He watched her walk toward the stranger.

"If it was so much trouble for you, why did you even bother rescuing us?"

The stranger let out yet another laugh. Each time, it deformed into something more guttural and horrid. Dice preferred the scraping coming from behind the door.

"I didn't come to your 'rescue'," the stranger said. "I don't go around the Genoa District's Pit looking for dopes like you to save. No... You just happened to be in the same place I was. I went above ground to pick up some spare parts, and ran into your group of robots — nothing more."

It was Matches' turn to laugh.

"You still saved us."

"So I did. I suppose that I didn't want to watch a couple of people be torn apart by a group of sadistic robot rebels. Do you want me to change my mind? Because they're still out there. It's not too late for me to throw you back."

Dice's ears burned. The stranger meandered about, flicking his wrists as he spoke. He slung his voice around, as if it was law. It was slathered in too much relish.

"I want you to take off your mask," Dice said.

The stranger sped up his pace around the room, before stopping to stoop over Dice. Dice looked up into the stranger's mask and stared him into the eyes. They were small for a man so big. The pupils shrunk back.

"You have guts," the stranger said. "It'll be such a shame when they're finally spilled by some robot..."

He put his finger on the wound in Dice's shoulder. A sting coursed through it. The muscles in Dice's neck tightened, and a faint nausea settled over him.

"We humans are tough, but soft at the same time," the stranger said. "Sad, isn't it?"

"What I think is sad is that you live here. In the Pit. With nobody but these robot savages to keep you company."

A fresh sting shot through Dice's cheek, as the stranger slapped him across the face.

"So arrogant!" he said, with a roar. "I saved your life! I brought you in here!"

"I'm sorry," Matches said, coming behind the stranger. "We've been through a lot today. Dice doesn't actually mean anything that he said... Do you Dice?"

Dice shook his head. The stranger eyed Dice's cheek, stepped away, and walked to the corner of the room. He let out a deep sigh, and turned his back away from them.

"Maybe I should be the one apologizing," he said. "I haven't seen another human being in months... And, the ones that I do find are usually dead. Or halfway to death."

There was a pang in the stranger's voice. Dice saw a flash of Haynam's face, and had to close his eyes. There was an extended stillness. Dice had to stare at the image. He had to remember the cold eyes. The gaping mouth, clogged with words that were never spoken.

"I'm Matches, and that's Dice, by the way."

Dice reopened his eyes, and saw that Matches had outstretched her hand to the stranger. With a grunt stranger took it.

He cleared his throat.

"I haven’t gone by my name in years..."

"Then this is the perfect opportunity to change your name," Matches said.

The stranger nodded.

"Yes. I can reinvent myself, can't I? I like that. I'd prefer to not have to go by my true name ever again. It was... So long ago. A different life."

His hand ran along a cluttered work bench, and he snickered.

"My new name can be... Wrench."

"Wrench?" Matches asked.

"Your name is Matches, and his name is Dice," Wrench said. "Might as well name myself after another inanimate object."

He was Wrench. Neither of them questioned it again. For Dice, it may as well have never been any other way.

"So... How long have you been living on this slice of prime real-estate?" Matches asked. "I imagine that the move here was fun."

Wrench's eyes pierced through Matches. Then, he gave a pained chuckle.

"I've been here for decades," he said, casting a sidelong glance at Dice. "The Pit used to seem like a viable place to go... The U.R.O makes loads from unloading the world's trash here and turning it into energy. I figured that I could do the same."

"I'm going to guess that it didn't work out," Matches said.

"I've made a life for myself by coming here. That's more than most people can say. So... It depends on how you look at it."

Dice looked at Matches. Her mouth was open, her tongue hanging onto a word. However, the word never came out. She just stared at Wrench with a lingering pitying expression. Although Dice could only see Wrench's eyes, he could tell Wrench was returning the expression.

"I've given you some of my story," Wrench said, drawing himself up to his full height. "Now, it's your turn. Where did you come from?"

Matches wiped the gape from her face, and grinned.

"I've been waiting for the chance to tell somebody my life's story. Nobody else has ever seemed too eager to hear it."

Wrench's eyes were granite. He made a low growl.

"As much as I'd love to know the story of where your pupils went, we both know damn well what I meant. Nobody gets caught by a gang of robots in the Pit without having done something supremely stupid."

Matches stared at Dice, pleading for help. Though, Dice suddenly felt very frail. He leaned against the wall, and wiped away a cold sweat that was blooming on his forehead. His shoulder stung like mad.

"We were trying to get a package across the border," Matches finally said. "We were headed to the Gordon District, to rendezvous with.... Our... Contractors who have methods of getting us to the other side of the border. When we decided to take a shortcut through the Genoa District, our systems were shorted out by the acid rain. We've only been stranded a day but, as you can see, that was more than enough to nearly kill us."

Wrench folded his arms and nodded.

"A couple of people crashing, while flying a plane to the border? That sounds completely innocent and legitimate."

"It doesn't make it any less true."

"It's only half true, at best... But, that's fine. I assume you still need help getting to the Gordon District?"

"We definitely need help getting out of here. I think we can find our own way to the Gordon District, though."

The room rocked back and forth. Dice held onto the wall to keep balance and maintain focus.

"There are a few ways I know of that can get you out of here," said Wrench. "There are several forager communities in the Pit who could take you to the Gordon District. Of course, they'd make you pay a hefty price... And then, there's me. I know this place better than any of them, and I might have a shortcut or two to the Gordon District."

Matches' eyes lit up.

"Thank you so much," she said. Then, she paused to raise an eyebrow. "Now, what is it going to cost us?"

"You'll have to convince me that guiding you out of the Pit will even be worth it, first... If and when you can do that, my price will be three hundred radials."

Matches ran her hand through her hair.

"Three hundred radials?" she asked. "You live in the Pit! You're never even going to use it!"

"There are plenty of forager communities who'd give a power-system just for a single unit. I'll definitely find ways to use those radials."

"But, we don't even have any—."

"It's fine," Dice said, weakly. "I'll pay him the radials. I should have enough in my U.R.O savings account."

Matches gave a look of relief. Wrench gave a passing look of concern.

"We'll discuss the specifics of our arrangement later," Wrench said. His pupils rolled up and down as they sized Dice up. "It's time that we tend to your friend... Dice, was it?"

Dice nodded, but took a few steps back. There was a biting edge to the way that Wrench spoke. Despite this, crinkles formed around Wrench's eyes, which Dice could only assume that they were caused by a hidden smile. Yet, the idea of Wrench smiling made Dice all the more uncomfortable.

Wrench drew closer to Dice. Then, he walked completely past him. He opened a bronze cabinet at the back of the room, to reveal row after row of random gadgets and supplies. Just from a brief look, Dice could tell that half the cabinet was useless. Though, Wrench held himself up with pride as he rummaged through it.

"I have too many things in here," Wrench said. "I've been collecting things for so long, and I just never know what will or won't one day be useful."

"What you're looking for will be useful and relevant to the conversation at hand though, right?" Matches asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course."

Wrench stepped out of the cabinet, his arms cradling a bucket of needles, injectors, casts, and tissue replicators. Dice looked back to the door. Maybe he could still leave through it.

"We're going to need to take care of all those injuries of yours," Wrench said, making a sympathetic cluck with his tongue. Though, the glee in Wrench's voice was too overbearing for Dice to believe his gesture sympathy.

Dice inched away, though Wrench caught up and pushed his hand against his chest.

"In the chair," Wrench said.

Dice wanted to protest, but Wrench's words were a hot iron. Dice sat down and locked his gaze to the wall, preparing himself for whatever might come.

"So tense," Wrench said, rubbing Dice's shoulders. "It's a sign that you're already binding up."

Dice looked to Matches for help, but Matches had gone to a corner.

"Yes... Far too tense. If I do anymore work on you, it's going to hurt like hell."

"I suppose that's to be expected after suffering as extensive of injuries as mine," Dice said.

"Yes... Well, I need to give you a few stimulation injections before I can continue any further," Wrench said, nodding his head. Then, turning to Matches, he raised his voice, "Alright, I'm going to need you to hold him down. He's going to need extensive injections, and this isn't going to be pretty."

"No," Dice said.

Wrench snapped back around, and gave Dice a look.

"What?"

"Do you even have any background in using medical tools?"

Wrench snorted, and picked up on of his injectors. The canister was far bigger than it should've been . Or, was his memory just playing tricks on him?

"Do I have any background using medical tools?" Wrench repeated. "Well, if you'd like somebody who does, I can gladly lend you to one of those idiot robots out there. They'll fix you up real good. In the meantime? You're stuck with me."

Wrench called over Matches, and forced her to help hold Dice down. Dice fought, and kicked. To no avail.

"I'm fundamentally against the usage of injector stimulators," Dice said. "They're bad for the brain. They dull the mind. They—."

"They're going into your bloodstream," said Wrench, pushing one into the side of Dice's arm. "They're better than letting you waste away as a pile of broken bones."

Wrench had Matches pass him another injector stimulator. Wrench shoved it into Dice's other arm. As the canister flushed into Dice's system, his head shot up with ecstasy. The room lit up in a balmy glow. There was the scent of a flowery perfume from the distant past. Everything became so much clearer. So much simpler.

Wrench grabbed another injector from Matches. Dice felt a slight prick as it was shoved into the side of his neck. With the third rush of stimulators, the whole world went awash with a blinding light. He could now only hear a few muffled grunts, and shouts.

"Won't four be too much?" Matches said, from the beyond.

There was a soft tap in Dice's side.

"Too late. I remember that people used to take ten of these at a time."

"That's impossible! It could've only been small injections! Not full canisters!"

"He can take it..."

Dice took the words and left the room. He laid in the bright light. Only the bright light. He was home. He'd been away for far too long. He'd finally reached the apex of clarity.

Rest.

…

The air smelled of bleach. The odor spread. Dice's nose burned. His eyes watered.

He wanted a way out. There had to be a way. Though, he was ensnared in a thick darkness. He ambled around. He stumbled back after bumping into a wall.

A scoff leapt around the darkness.

"You poor thing..." It was the same voice that he'd heard so many times before — cruel. Raspy. Conniving. "You think that you can escape, my boy? You think that you can make change? It's time that you learn... There's no point in trying."

There was an intense ringing in Dice's ears. His hands clasped over his ears, but the ringing only worsened. It traveled from his ears, and to his skin. Through his bones. He collapsed on the ground.

The sound stopped. Though, Dice lacked the strength to pull himself back up.

"You're in a sonic chamber," the voice said. It was more warbled than before, yet somehow sharp as ever. "You bypass our codes of conduct? You act against our system? We put you here..."

The ringing returned, pushing down on his body. The stench of fumes became overpowering. Dice felt as if a wall had collapsed on top of him.

"We've crafted intellectual nirvana here, in this... high place," the voice said, towering over the sonic blasts. "We've handpicked you, out of so many, to represent us. To contribute your mental strength to our facilities' collective knowledge. To become one of us. Don't resist. Please... Desist."

Dice grunted, and his muscles quaked as he pushed himself up. His eyes were bleary. Tears were streaming down his face. His ears were popping.

"Buckle up. It's going to be a long three hours."

Chapter 14

There was a steady beeping. It was almost soothing, but something itched at the back of Dice's mind.

Dice went to move his arms. The table under him shuddered. There were restraints around them. He thrusted his chest out, but only felt the tug of more restraints.

Dice opened his eyes. There was a black emptiness. He blinked. Nothing changed.

"Is anybody there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice flat and controlled.

No answer. Dice's breathing stalled out. He was taken back to the time he'd been trapped in his sleep tube. Back to nightmares that he'd had before that... So many nightmares.

He shook and fought. His table rocked back and forth. He didn't stop until the table wouldn't rock anymore, and he was careening toward the ground.

His body quaked as he made impact. He was still strapped down, but now he was stuck on his side. Brilliant.

At least it was close enough to progress.

Dice sniffed. The air smelled of blaster ammunition, and oil... It had to have been a room in Wrench's cove.

What if Wrench and Matches were dead? What if he was trapped? What if it had all been a trap?

Dice's breathing fled from his control. His heartrate climbed. His head pounded. There was too much darkness. Too many bad memories. They burst in all at once, breaking him down.

"Somebody help me!" he shouted. "Is anybody there!? Let me out! Dammit, somebody let me out!"

He persisted, even as his throat became sore and his voice slipped away from him. He only stopped for a moment to swallow a deep breath of air, before letting out another shout.

"I'm trapped!"

There was a series of thuds. Something creaked. A door? No light came in.

"I'm so sorry," Matches said.

Her hands pulled at a visor around Dice's head. As it came off, light spilled back into Dice's eyes. His heartrate fell, and air rushed back into his lungs.

He looked down. Wires and tubes ran throughout holes in his bodysuit.

"We put a sleep regulator around your head, to make sure that you didn't wake up before it was time," Matches said. "Didn't work... But, at least it had been worth a shot."

Dice looked up at Matches. Her hair was a mess, her face was worn, and her body was covered in a layer of dust. How much time had passed since he'd been asleep?

Matches unlocked the restraints. Dice rolled from the table and yanked the tubes and wires from his body. Nerves rattled in his bones. His eyes swelled as he kept a grunt at bay.

"It's actually midnight right now," Matches said. "If it hadn't been for your shouts, we probably wouldn't have checked on you for hours."

Dice rubbed his shoulder, slightly annoyed. His injuries still felt raw. None of the tissue replicators on his body had fully healed over. Wrench and Matches must not have been tending to him nearly enough.

"How long have I been out?" Dice asked.

"You've been in a coma for three days," said Matches. "I wasn't sure how long it was going to take you during the first day. To be honest, I wasn't even sure if you were going to make it... Wrench had given you too many stimulator injections, and your heart flatlined for several minutes."

"My heart stopped?" Dice said, with passing interest.

"Yeah. Wrench ended up using one of his electric gauntlets to revive you. I told him that they might fry you, but he didn't care... The man's a maniac."

Matches laughed.

"I guess it all worked out in the end."

"Yeah... Guess so."

Dice looked around the room. It was a cramped space — 12 square meters at most. There was a generator in the corner, which connected to various pumps and life support systems. It sparked and shuddered. Dice put his head in his hands. His life had practically been held together by a thread.

An old nightmare flashed by his eyes. He twisted in his seat and stood up. His left leg gave a slight twinge, sending yet another flash.

"What's wrong?" Matches asked.

"Nothing," Dice said, with a weak cough. He adjusted the neck-hole to his bodysuit. "Just remembered a bad nightmare that keeps coming back to me... It's been getting progressively worse, lately... Weirder too. I just need to learn how to ignore it."

Matches gave a questioning glance, then cleared her throat. "Wrench said yes, by the way."

Dice turned back to Matches. Her eyes were downcast, but she had a smirk on her face.

"He's taking the three-hundred radial payment?" Dice asked.

"Yes and no. He bumped it up to five-hundred radials. That said, it's probably worth it... He's taken me outside into the Pit a few times and shown me how to live off the terrain. To keep it brief, there's no way we'll be able to live off of it on our own... Thankfully, Wrench apparently knows about a secret subterranean transport tube system, between here and the Gordon District. He plans on using it to get us to the Gordon District. It's only a few miles from here."

Dice followed Matches' eyes down to the ground.

"That's a lot of money," Dice said. "I'm not sure I have that much cash. And, even if I do, my assets might be completely frozen by now."

Matches pulled her box of cards out of her sleeve, and let a blue blur run between her fingers.

"Doesn't matter. I've owed people money I didn't have before. We just ditch him if you don't have enough. Worst case scenario? He suffers from an accidental death..."

Dice's fists tightened into a ball. A memory of Haynam shot up his spine. He brought his eyes back up from the ground.

"No," Dice said, resolutely. "We don't kill. Never again. All we're trying to do is get ourselves across the border, where... Where we can get away. Start over."

Matches laughed. Why? Dice suddenly couldn't help but suddenly feel apprehensive. Paranoid. He remembered Matches' comment about her life story from only a few nights ago...

What was her story? People only hid when there was something worth hiding.

"I was just joking, Dice," Matches said. "Where's your sense of humor?"

"Humor is overrated."

Dice stopped to sigh. The Gordon District was so far from home. The Kelvin Union was even further. It wasn't too late to go back to the Monterey District, was it? That was where he'd always belonged, up until now. What if he could find a way to explain himself to the MDPD, and reconcile? What if he was making the wrong choice?

"I'm not so sure I want to head to the Gordon District..." Dice said, running his hand through his hair.

Matches stopped playing with her cards to give a stare.

"What?"

"I — it's just so far. I've only ever lived in the Monterey District. And, this might all be one big mistake. Have you ever thought of that?"

Matches leaned against the wall and waved another card past her face. "I don't know... I do know this though: I can't let you leave. You try to pull something, and I'll be back in your mind."

The corner of her lip curved upward. She'd tried to volley it as another joke. Though, Dice caught the glint of grimness. She'd meant every word.

Dice gave a scowl and limped out of the room.

Despite the lingering pain and unfinished tissue replicators, Dice's injuries had healed significantly in the past few days. His left leg was only stiff, with a slight ache. The bruises around his skull were gone. Yet, there was also a fogginess that wouldn't leave. He shook his head as he thought about how many stimulants must've been pumped into his body while he was unconscious.

Wrench was sleeping on the couch in the center of the main room. A dull snore echoed out from inside his mask. Somehow he was able to keep himself comfortable, even with all his layers of armor on.

Dice shook Wrench awake. Wrench woke up with a start and kicked Dice in the gut.

"What is going on!?" he shouted.

Dice stooped over, and caught his breath.

"Me," said Dice, talking through the pain. "I know that it's late, but I'm the one paying for you to get us out of here. We've already waited three days, and I doubt that we'll have much longer."

Wrench gave a soft laugh and stood up.

"You're on my list now, for waking me up," Wrench said. "Speaking of waking up: it's about time you snapped out of that coma of yours..."

Wrench walked toward the center of the cove, calling for Matches.

"By the way," Wrench said, turning back to Dice, "when it comes to these 'three days of waiting', you can only blame yourself. You should've woken up two days ago, but... complications arose when it came to you healing."

Wrench opened up his makeshift sleep tube and pulled out his gun. Then, leaning down to the ground, he picked up a bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"I was already told," said Dice. "You stalled my heart by making me overdose on stimulants."

"I prefer the phrase, 'saving your life'…"

Wrench snatched a couple of guns from a hanger on the wall and handed them to Dice and Matches. Then, raising his own gun, he opened the door to the tunnel. Dice stepped forward, but Wrench held his hand out to stop him and trekked into tunnel by himself.

"It's clear!" Wrench said, his voice echoing from the end of the tunnel.

"Wrench has been extra cautious about his tunnel," Matches whispered, as Dice entered. "Robots keep coming back to it, to try and break in. Wrench said he's going to need to relocate."

"How many of them has he had to disable?"

Matches paused, and then shrugged.

"Not all that many... He's weird about that."

When they made it out of the tunnel, it was pitch dark. The sky was smoked over, obscuring the stars and moon from sight. There were no lights on the ground for kilometers, aside from the meagre glow created by stray pieces of technology.

"It's probably better off that we leave tonight," Wrench said. "We shouldn't run into many robots during this time, due to their programming. If we're lucky, we probably won't see much rainfall either."

"So, the only robots that we’ll run into are the ones that have gone rogue from their programming?" Matches said. "That's a nice thought..."

Wrench pulled a pair of night-vision goggles over his mask, and then passed two pairs down to Matches and Dice. Dice slid the goggles over his eyes, letting their display light up in a crisp neon green. In the top-left corner of the goggles, there was a list of statistics. Temperature, atmospheric pressure, oxygen levels, a safety assessment...

The safety assessment was at thirty percent. Dice pressed his hand to the side of his goggles to turn it off.

He stopped and surveyed the terrain. The Pit was a new world, even with the help of the night-vision. Scraps let off a cold gleam they'd robbed from the moon. They were more jagged than Dice remembered. Bigger. The air was colder. The sky was heavier.

Dice looked up from the terrain to find that Wrench and Matches were already far ahead. Dice limped after them.

"Don't lag behind again," Wrench said. "We have three miles to go before we reach the subterranean system. We can't stop for every time you want to take a nap."

Dice's feet turned to lead bricks. They dragged through the scrap metal, waiting for the end of the endlessness. No matter how far they seemed to get, there was no change. Just heaps upon heaps of trash.

Every so often, lightning would bolt across the clouds, illuminating the Pit in a sickly blue. However, Dice preferred the lightning over the darkness. Groans flung through the air. Unseen scraps caught underfoot and tore at his bodysuit. Damaged robots would putter by. Dice even thought that he saw the vague outline of a withered man wandering along through the scraps.

He didn't have the stomach to turn his night-vision up all the way to see for sure, instead choosing to hold his finger over his gun's trigger.

Exhaustion set in. Dice's left leg trembled. At each bend of the knee, it threatened to collapse to the ground.

Wrench pulled something from out of his pocket.

"My tracker's signal is fuzzy down here," Wrench said. "But, we should be coming right up to our stop."

There was a whizz. A coil of metal flew just a few centimeters in front of Dice. Dice's eyes tried following it, but it disappeared back into the darkness.

"Did either of you see that?" Dice asked.

Wrench let out a grunt.

"A robot? Yeah. Not sure why you're so scared though — it was a real small fry." Wrench whipped his head around, and raised his gun. "That said, we should probably proceed carefully... And keep our mouths shut."

"Not so sure if I can follow that last instruction," Matches said.

Wrench's voice turned to a hoarse whisper. "Well, then get sure."

Their steps softened. Wrench had them hunch down as they weaved behind large structures and mounds in the scraps. It was a longer route, but Wrench insisted on it.

Dice questioned whether the precautions made any difference. No matter where they went, his hearing aid picked up the engines of robots purring just off in the distance.

Maybe it was just paranoia. That had to be what it was.

Wrench held his arm over Dice's chest.

"Stop," Wrench hissed. "We're nearly there."

Dice's foot skidded. A piece of trash flung into the air. There was a crash. Then a rumble, followed by more crashes. Dice dialed up his night-vision and looked down. His heart sputtered. He was standing over the edge of a steep hill. It had to have been at least twenty meters tall.

Dice squinted. There was a mound at the bottom of the hill, looking to have been created by a landslide. Next to it was a rusted door, built firmly into the ground. Dice studied its heavy handles, and welded hinges. They were flaking apart. His face twisted. Hopefully the inside was in a better state.

"Watch your step, or you'll break both of your legs," Wrench said. His goggles flickered menacingly.

Dice bent over, buckled his knees, and started down. His left foot slid. His body followed. He leaned an arm against the ground to try to control his descent. Bits of metal leapt at him and tore at his sleeve. He closed his eyes until he'd slowed to a halt.

"Not half-bad," Wrench said, slapping him on the back. "And here I was, thinking that you were useless at just about everything..."

Dice had made it to the bottom. His chest rose. It sunk back down when Wrench made a snicker and looked over his shoulder.

"How would you rate his slide, Matches?" Wrench said.

There was only a cough from out of the darkness.

"Oh... Now you're quiet," Wrench said, with a scoff.

Dice remembered the bleak eyes hidden under Wrench's night goggles. Wrench couldn't say an earnest word, could he?

Dice pushed past him, making his way to the rusted door. He tossed his gun aside and yanked at the handles — not even so much as a creak. He scanned for a lock but came up short. The metal slabs were simply too heavy.

"A little help?" Dice said. "I'm not going to be able to get this door open myself."

Wrench and Matches groaned.

"Hey: do you want to escape, or not?" Dice asked. "The robots could arrive and attack at any minute."

No response. Dice's rolled his eyes and turned around — but nobody was there.

"Uh... Guys?"

There was a flicker of green. A row of knives. A choke. Blackness.

Dice's body ruptured with shock as he was thrust back. His night-vision fizzled on and off. Dice dialed it all the way up. A shadow loomed over him.

A robot.

Wiry legs were stitched through scraps, puppeteering the robot's bucket for a body through the air. Dice looked for a head. There wasn't one. Only piercing, spindly limbs. Limbs that were wrapped around Wrench and Matches' necks. They were being strangled.

Dice fumbled along the ground for something. Anything. His tongue was wooden, and his eyes were glazed with terror. He turned to marble, muscles tensing.

"Use... your... gun!" Wrench gargled.

Of course. It was just to his left. Dice dove at it, aimed it at the robot, and fired. There was a blast. A spark.

A metallic shriek. Dice rolled out of the way as the robot jabbed an arm at him. It was more agitated than ever.

Dice took a glance at his gun. He'd left the safety on. Idiot move.

Dice flicked the safety off and aimed the gun once more. He pulled the trigger. There was a satisfying snap. One of the robot's arms cleaved off and wriggled about on the ground. The robot chirped as it recoiled away and dropped Matches and Wrench to the ground. Dice didn't lower his aim until the sound of metal crunching under metal limbs faded to a dull echo.

Dice turned around and took few more blasts into empty space, for extra measure. Then, he lowered his aim to one of the rusted doors and shot off its hinges. The metal grated as Dice pushed the door to the ground.

Hobbling as fast as his bad leg would allow, Dice knelt down to tend to Matches and Wrench. However, Matches already lifting Wrench from the ground.

"You're alright?" Dice asked, incredulously.

"Of course I'm alright. You threw me down an airlock, and I survived. It's Wrench that you should be worried about..."

Wrench already had a bruise swelling around his neck.

"You couldn't have been any faster with the gun?" Wrench said, with a haggard cough.

"Sorry," Dice said. "The robot was so quiet... I didn't even know you two were in danger at first."

Dice went to pull Wrench's mask off, to check the color of his face. Wrench slapped his hand away.

"We don't have enough time," Wrench said, standing himself up. He lifted his bag up from the ground and doddered toward the door. "I'm certain the robot has already sent out a homing signal to its friends... We need to get out of here before more of them start coming.

He ripped Dice's gun away, and started down the ladder into the subterranean-system. Dice listened as a buzzing sound went off in the distance. He shivered, and then followed after Wrench.

Dice's feet thudded as they hit the ground. They were in pitch black. Even with his night-vision, Dice could hardly see a few centimeters in front of himself.

There was a flip of a switch. Everything went up in a blinding light. Dice winced, and ripped his goggles off his face.

"My eyes!" said Matches. "Warn us before you do something like that."

There was a clang. Robots spilled through the doors above them.

"There's your warning," Wrench said, jogging down the tunnel. "Let's move."

They were in a wide, brick tunnel. Dozens of lights dangled from the ceiling overhead. Dice followed them to the back, where they danced on a glass tube. The sides of the tube were streaky, and coated in dust from aging bricks. Hopefully it would be able to make the distance.

Wrench and Matches piled into the tube. Dice tried speeding up, but his leg wrenched. Dice lightened his steps and clenched his teeth as he entered the tube.

"Lagging behind again, Dice?" Wrench asked, scrunching his nose.

He punched the ignition, and the tube's glass flap folded over them. Dice's eyes darted to the window. The robots were still far off in the distance. They were going to make it.

The motor of the transport car sung. A whoosh flapped against their car as the transport tube's vacuum activated. Dice's hands dug into the armrests of his seat as he himself for the coming turbulence.

The car's motor sputtered, and then shriveled to silence.

"The ride is already over?" Matches said. "This thing is faster than I thought."

"Shut up," said Wrench.

"What happened?" asked Dice. "You don't think that the car's motor has rusted out, do you?"

"No," said Wrench. "I tested this thing when I discovered it... It was working then."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It does if you know how machines work. The battery systems are probably out."

Dice looked back to the window. The robots were gaining ground. They only had so long before they were discovered.

"So, that would mean we need to access the batteries and replenish them, correct?" Dice asked.

Wrench made a cruel laugh, and shook his head.

"This is an older model. The batteries fully rely on the generators to get their charge — which should run underground, perpendicular to our transport car's parking bay. The generators have either been knocked out, or drained of power. We need to go find them, get to them, and recharge them."

He tapped on their car's window, pointing at a passageway across the brick tunnel.

"Step one is already done. Step two will be tricky, but I think we can manage. As for step three? Well..."

Wrench pulled a power rod out of his bag and held it up to his face.

"I can never be too prepared... I got this power rod out of an old mover robot, about a year back. Those bots need a lot of energy, so this thing has quite the kick to it. Hopefully it will be big enough to recharge the system..."

"I could use some recharging myself," Matches said, rubbing her eyes as she reopened the doors to the transport tube. "Would've been nice if we didn't have to run this gambit so late at night..."

Dice looked out the door. A swarm of robots was already crowding the tunnel, and attempting to tear away at their tube. The hair on his arm raised.

"How long do you think we have to get across?" Dice asked.

"I guess we're going to find out, aren't we?" Wrench said.

Wrench handed Matches his gun and ran across the brick tunnel. Leg aching, Dice followed after. There was a clang. Dice turned around to find an oily mass of robots sprawled on the ground, dead. They couldn't have been more than a meter away from him — he could've died and have been none the wiser.

A pulse of energy soared past his head, hitting another cluster of robots.

"You can take cover behind me."

It was Matches.

"Remind me why Wrench gave you the gun, instead of me — the person who could probably use it the most right now," Dice said, as he went behind Matches.

Matches kept blasting away. Dice inched closer to the passageway that Wrench had ran down. Though, Matches wasn't inching with him. Her eyes were dead-set on one of the robots that she'd shot to the ground.

"Matches, come on!" Dice said.

"Matches didn't move. Her eyes were glassy, and her feet were clay. Dice gave Matches a shake.

"Matches, we need to get out of here!"

No change. Dice grabbed her arm and tried dragging her away.

"The gun isn't working!" Matches snapped, yanking her arm away. "I think it's out of ammo."

"And you thought that standing there was going to change that?"

Matches gave a scowl. This wasn't a time to try reasoning with her. Dice picked up his pace — he couldn't move fast enough. Metal razors landed at his feet. An orb of energy hurtled toward his chest, which he only narrowly dodged. Flakes of dust fell from the ceiling, clouding the passageway from view. Coughing, Dice covered his eyes with his arm and powered through.

He leaned against a wall. A hand clasped around his shoulder.

"Took you long enough," Wrench grunted.

The dust cleared. Wrench and Matches were already hiding behind the crack of a vault door. Wrench pulled Dice through, and then rammed his shoulder into the door to force it shut. Though, a robot wedged its arm in the crack just as he did. The door rumbled. More robots were piling on, pushing back against the door.

"Come on!" Wrench shouted. "Help me get this thing shut!"

Dice and Matches rushed to his aid. The robots howled and screamed.

"Push harder!"

The door groaned, and then clicked as it locked into place. Wrench fastened the rest of the door's locks. Wiping away the sweat streaming down his face, Dice let out a deep sigh. However, he didn't allow relief to fully set over himself. He couldn't drive away a question gnawing at his mind — how would they reopen the door?

He left the question at the door and followed Wrench down a winding staircase. Each step made a disgruntled crack. A few bricks sagged and crumbled as Dice walked down them. He tried clinging the railing, but it bowed to the ground. Rows of screws holding up the railing had rusted entirely away.

"Watch your step," said Wrench.

"Watch the steps, more like it..." Matches grumbled.

Dice's hands didn't stop trembling until he could finally see light from around the bend. He walked off the last step and into an expansive chamber. It was dominated by a sprawling cylinder that seemed to stretch on for several hundred meters. It was anchored to the ground by a metal frame and pumps jutting out from all sides of it cylinder. The pumps jittered softly as they fed into the walls, floors, and ceiling. Though, the jittering melted into the background when Dice noticed a faint glow coming off the cylinder. It was a deep crimson. A stark contrast to the drab brown brick walls surrounding it.

Dice reached toward it but snapped back upon a wave of heat.

"All these years riding transport tubes..." Dice said, "… And, I never knew about these old power systems that used to run under them. How did I never know?"

"I guess that even you don't know everything, smart-ass," Wrench said. He leaned down to look under the cylindrical power system. He squinted and wedged off a panel. "Great..."

Dice leaned down. There was nothing worth moaning about. Just the endlessly stretching metal of the power systems' underside. Metallic. Monotone. Mundane nonetheless.

"What?" Dice finally asked.

Wrench jiggled a valve underneath the cylinder. Wrench must've just been complaining for no reason, as usual. Dice stood up, and Matches knelt down. Her eyes widened.

"A parasite bot," said Matches. "It's locked onto the regulator — probably uploaded a virus of some sort, so that it can feed on the energy."

"It's fine, it's fine," Wrench said. There was a spark as the power-chord made contact with the cylinder. Wrench jumped back, smacking his mask on the power system "Shit!"

The room went up with the rattling echoes as the pumps processed a new burst of energy.

"That doesn't sound fine," said Matches.

Dice he ducked under the cylinder. He crouched onto his belly as heat tugged at his skin. Wrench rubbed his head and crawled after him.

"Get out of there," Wrench said. "It's hopeless — we're not going to be able to kill the bot, let alone reprogram the circuit. We can... We can just try the transport tube as it is, and hope that it works this time. Maybe my new surge of power will be enough to fix the problem."

"You know that it won't."

Dice leaned down and looked up into the panel Wrench had torn away. A slug-like bot, about the size of his forearm, twined throughout it. Its metallic skin kneaded in and out, like dough. Its head flickered green as it bit deeper into the power system's control screen.

"I see it!" Dice said.

"Good for you. You want a badge or something? Unless you have some bright idea, we need to be getting out of here. The transport tube upstairs is only going to get more torn apart."

Dice's eye spasmed as his thoughts ran. He'd be able to reprogram the virus the parasite had uploaded. Though, he needed to get rid of the parasite first. How would he be able to goad it away? Dice thought about trying to electrocute it with the power-rod, and then shuddered.

He looked back to Wrench. Then Matches. Dice blinked.

"Matches, get over here," Dice said.

"What?" Matches asked, incredulously.

"You're the only one here who can disable the robot. I'll take care of reprogramming it."

Wrench snorted.

"Dice, have you gone mad? There's no way that —."

"Don't play dumb, Matches," Dice said, cutting him off. "If we want to get out of this, you need to do what you need to do."

Matches glowered at Dice, and reluctantly raised her hand to her forehead. Her face construed into a pained grimace.

The parasite screeched and hissed. It unlatched from the control panel and collapsed onto the ground as a steaming husk.

"What just —?" Wrench began.

"No time for questions right now," Dice said, bringing his hands to the cracked control screen.

Sparks leapt from it as Dice unlocked entered into it. Dice's fingers ran along the keypad as unintelligible blocks of color blotched the screen.

"You just think that you can undo weeks of damage from a virus bot?" Wrench asked.

The blocks of color faded to code. Dice cut a few lines and added several new ones. He hit enter.

"Already did."

Dice rolled out of under the power system as it kicked on with a roar.

"You want to go back under there and try fixing some of the damaged circuits?" Dice asked Wrench.

"No, that should be good enough," said Wrench, eyeing the parasite.

Wrench and Matches started up the passageway. Dice followed after, his head still rolling.

"I thought that parasite bots were banned — only available in black markets."

"Only in the U.R.O," said Wrench.

"But, this is the U.R.O."

"This is the U.R.O's dump. The Pit is where the world's trash goes. As far as I'm concerned, this isn't the U.R.O. Anything goes here..."

Wrench made it up a few more steps before stopping to look Dice in the eye.

"Of course, you'll soon learn that anything goes, anywhere. Let's just hope that it's sooner, rather than later."

Chapter 15:

"When we open this door, we’re going to have an army of robots to deal with," Wrench said. "So, be prepared. We're going to try fighting them off... But, if there's too many of them, run back down to the generator room. I'll try getting the door shut."

He turned back around to look at Matches.

"I'm going my gun back by the way."

"It's broken," Dice said. "All out of ammo, or something."

Wrench gave a bemused look.

"My guns don't break, and they're always fully loaded..."

He snatched the gun anyway from Matches and aimed it at the wall. He pulled the trigger, blasting a hole through it.

"Works just fine for me," he said.

"Just my luck," said Matches, with a chuckle. Though, it was stiffer than usual. Forced. "The trigger must've jammed the moment that I needed it most."

"Isn't how that always is?" said Wrench, grimly.

He went to the door and picked at the locks. Dice's stomach turned, and he shuffled his feet. His ears rang as robots hammered against the door. Wrench stumbled back from their sheer force, before returning to the locks. Dice scanned the door from bottom to top. The hinges were bent, and eight dents had been put in it.

How many robots on the other side of the door? Was opening the door to find out really the best idea?

Dice's hand trembled as Wrench slid the last lock out of place. Dice stepped back. The door left a crater in the wall as it flung open. Dice shielded his face from bits of dust and brick collapsing from the ceiling.

"Move!" Wrench roared. "Move!"

A wave of robots crashed overtop of Wrench. They reeked of smoke. A blood-red aura of heat emanated from them. Steam and metal scraping against brick clouded Dice's ears. He hobbled toward the stairwell. Though, Matches' iron grip pulled him back, bringing him back toward the heap of robots.

"Stop!" Dice shouted. "We need to escape! What are you doing?"

Matches clenched her jaw and said nothing. Her eyes were unwavering, stolen by the horde. Dice couldn't glean even a flicker of emotion from her face.

Dice looked back to the horde and saw how close it was. He hadn't needed to look, though. He could practically feel its heat. Smell its oil. Taste its rage.

The heat faded. Dice squinted. The robots were shrinking back. Retreating away, down the tunnel.

Matches let go of Dice's wrist and groaned. She pulled her forefinger from her left temple and leaned against the wall.

"Pick up Wrench," said Matches, still rubbing her temples.

Wrench was sprawled across the ground, with his gun still in hand. His armor was covered in deep gashes, but his eyes seemed to twinkle from out of under his mask. Dice pulled Wrench over his left shoulder with a wheeze.

"You fine?" Dice asked.

"Fine enough. My right leg stings... But we have two good legs between us, don't we?"

Was that supposed to be a joke? Dice studied Wrench's eyes, but the twinkle was already gone.

"You went through all of that, and you still managed to keep your mask on?" Matches said, bumbling from the wall.

"Is that's what's giving you that massive headache of yours?"

Matches made a pained laugh through her clenched teeth.

"Yeah, that's it," she said. She cleared her throat.

"Some show those robots put on," Wrench said. His eyes flitted to Matches. "I've never seen that many retreat like that, on a whim... Care to explain what's going on?"

"Pull that mask of yours off, and you got it."

Wrench snickered.

"Alright, we need to move quickly," Matches said, her eyes swimming. "There's no telling when they might try coming back."

"I don't know how 'quickly' that we can move," Wrench said. A dark shadow passed over his eyes. "Look at us... We're limping toward the end goal."

"Well, I guess we need to take extra care to not let our spirits limp."

Dice studied Matches' face. It was still frozen in time. A fractal of itself. Even as Dice quickened his pace, he felt an urge to ask what was going on behind Matches' glazed eyes.

Dice narrowly stopped himself from tripping on a gouge in the ground. Dice's arm slackened as it struggled to hold up Wrench. He looked around. There were gouges all throughout the tunnel. Behind him, there was the soft pattering of water. He craned his neck up. There was a massive hole in the ceiling, letting in a downpour of acid rain.

"We only have one way out now," Dice said. "That recharge from your power-rod better have been enough, Wrench."

"Get to praying," Wrench said.

Dice opened the transport car's door and inhaled the whoosh of air. He hauled Wrench up into a seat. Though, as Dice went to strap Wrench in, Wrench pushed his hands away.

"Last time I checked, you weren't my nurse," Wrench said.

Dice would've retorted, but snapped his head around as he heard a thud.

"Matches!"

She'd hit the ground. Dice limped over, fighting against the searing pain rushing up his bad leg. He knelt down and tried shaking her awake. Though, her eyes were glued closed. She was unresponsive.

"Matches! You need to wake up!"

She didn't. Dice checked for signs of breathing or a pulse. Everything was dead-silent. Dice's own heart skipped a beat. His eyes stung, and became moist.

It must've been the mixture of acid and smoke. Dice could hardly see a thing. Though, he picked up the twittering of robots. They were making their way toward him.

Dice lifted Matches over his shoulder. His tissue replicator crackled. Dice closed his eyes and fought to ignore it.

"Wrench!" Dice shouted. "Wrench, Matches is unconscious!"

Wrench didn't come. He must've still been struggling to get himself out of the car.

The tube was only a few meters away. He could still make it.

Screeches and whirs erupted around him. There were fresh thuds as robots landed to the ground. Dice didn't open his eyes to look. He struggled to get as much out of his left leg as he possibly could. His arm was begging for a rest.

He'd have his rest in due time... Due time.

He reopened his eyes upon reaching the transport tube. Wrench finally stepped out, and hobbled toward Dice. Wrench's eyes looked off in the distance and went wild with terror, but Dice forced himself not to follow them. He couldn't.

Wrench helped Dice lift Matches into the transport car. Then, Dice helped push Wrench back up into the transport car. Spurring the ignition, Wrench held his hand over the button to the door. Dice lifted his leg to enter — though, just before he did, he took a glance behind. The horde of robots were rocketing toward him. They were only a few meters away.

Dice's legs were mortar. Wrench grabbed him by the shoulders, and yanked him in. The transport car's door swooshed shut, and Wrench slammed his fist on the ignition. The transport tube purred. Staring out the window, Dice watched the brick tunnel fly past them in a blur.

"Alright, time to take care of Matches," Wrench said, turning to him. Wrench gave a series of compressions and ventilations. Finally, he went to his pack, pulled out a pair of electric gloves, and pressed them against Matches' chest. Matches jumped awake with a jolt.

"What happened?" Matches asked. "I was thinking about how I needed to get better running shoes, and then... Nothing."

"I'm still wondering what the hell happened too," Wrench said. "Last time I checked, nobody can just 'wish away' an entire hoard of robots. Nobody has a random heart attack either. Care to answer yet? Or, are you still going to leave me in the dark?"

Matches looked away.

"That's odd... You're usually running your mouth," Wrench continued. "Why so quiet all of the sudden?"

The transport car shuddered and moaned. Wrench slapped his hand against the glass. His eyes narrowed.

"I'm risking my life to help you out!" he said. "The least I deserve are some answers!"

Matches looked at Dice, begging for him to create a distraction. However, he couldn't bring himself to. He needed answers. What was Matches trying to keep secret?

Matches turned away to look at Wrench.

"I can go into the minds of people," Matches said, with a heavy exhale. "You know those robot shrinks that you find on the street, claiming that they can see into your brain? I'm like one of them... Only, I actually can."

Wrench brought his hand to his mask.

"Wait..." he said. "Have you been reading the minds of all of us, this whole time?"

Matches shook her head.

"I usually don't go into people's minds unless I absolutely have to. My abilities are... Dangerous. They can kill people if I'm not careful."

Dice looked toward the ground. Something wasn't adding up.

"I thought that you could only go into the mind of one person," Dice said. "How did you go through the minds of all those robots... Twice?"

Matches buried her head in her hands.

"I can go into the minds of many things at once," Matches said. "But, not safely. If I'm not in full control, it drains my mind. I can die."

"Wait — you don't know about any of this either?" Wrench said, turning to Dice.

Dice listened as the car softly plodded through the transport tube. He shifted in his seat, and ran his hand against the leather lining.

"And you — you nearly killed yourself?" Wrench said, his voice rising. "I thought that I made it pretty clear that nobody was supposed to be risking their lives on this trip, except me."

"I wasn't the only one risking my life..." Matches said. "Whenever I control mass amounts of people, or things... Well, my mind can let out bursts."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"If I die while using my telepathic abilities, there's a chance that everybody in my vicinity can die as well. I could've fried the robots, and you two as well."

Wrench closed his eyes, and bowed his head.

"You haven't done anything like that before, have you?" asked Wrench.

Matches shook her head.

"Not a fan of fried foods."

Wrench leaned back in his seat, and snickered under his breath. He coughed, and then snickered louder.

"You could've killed us all," Wrench said.

He rested his masked chin on his hand.

"But then... If it hadn't been for you, those robots would be chopping us up into their personal trophies."

Dice rubbed his shoulder. Suddenly, its pain seemed insignificant.

"Would've been as close as I've ever gotten to getting a trophy," Matches said.

Laughter filled the air. Dice tried to laugh along. Though, as he looked out the window of the transport tube, he retreated to an old question that had grown into a tumor.

Why did Matches have the abilities that she did? What had happened in her past that had brought her to where she was?

Dice wanted to ask. Though, he couldn't bring himself to breach the light laughter. They'd all reached an agreement to not try unearthing the past. It was unspoken, but Dice could see it written on their faces.

Each person was free to keep their veil on.

Dice swallowed a lump that formed in his throat. He could only hope that the time for them to remove their veils would never come.

...

"Hey, tight-ass! It's your turn."

Dice tried snatched five cards from the air as they hurled toward his face. However, a stack of ten cards still scattered across the seat of his pants and onto the floor. Dice glared at Wrench as he bent over to pick them up. Wrench and Matches were sitting at a makeshift table they'd made from a bench.

"I'm not playing," Dice said.

Wrench let out a coarse laugh, and slammed the table.

"You don’t play spines?" he said, incredulously. "What type of person are you?"

"There are a lot of things that I don't do," Dice said simply, as he stacked the cards in a neat pile, and placed them on the table. "There are your cards back."

Matches rolled her eyes.

"He doesn't play any cards..." she said. "Apparently chess is the only game he's ever played."

"What's the point in leaving everything up to chance? Besides: I go through intensive computer algorithms for fun, as well..."

Wrench's eyes widened from behind his mask and he muttered something under his breath as he reshuffled the remaining deck of cards.

"Well, we're not going to be able to play spines with only two people," he said. "You're playing."

His voice was stiff and resolute. His eyes lifted from the cards, and bored Dice through the head.

"Too afraid that I'll beat you?" Matches asked.

Dice finally got up from his chair and sat himself at the makeshift table. It was better than having them stare at him constantly.

"How long will it be before we finally arrive at the Gordon District?" Dice asked, as he took his deck of cards.

"Shut up and play the game," Wrench said. "I might've dealt you in, but that doesn't mean I have to deal with you."

Dice counted the cards out. Three. Out of his best cards were a jack, a queen, and a spade. Not an awful draw.

Dice looked at Wrench. His eyes were downcast, and his hand was moving toward the edge of the table. Certainly unlike him.

"Wrench — set down a red."

The game was simple. The object was to be the first to make four matches of the most powerful cards in the draw. This was achieved by making the other player place a card of a certain color down on the table and seeing if it matched one's own card. Though, if the card of the other player didn't match, they could keep their card — leaving one with the choice to concede their turn or draw a new card from the deck.

Dice put down his jack. Wrench put down his card — another jack.

Wrench let out a groan and slid the card toward Dice.

"That's not fair," Wrench said, pulling a new card from the deck. "You can't just jump in, and take my best cards..."

Dice gave a shrug and slipped his card into his deck.

The game went on like this, with Dice taking cards from Wrench and Matches. He was right most of the time — but Matches was a bit harder to read. Her silver eyes would cloud his mind. Was there something to her that was taking him off his edge?

Or, was she cheating?

There was no way of telling. Even more unnerving was the fact that Matches was just as capable of detecting when somebody had the card she wanted. There came a point when Matches began taking just as many cards of Dice's as Dice did of hers.

Finally, Dice slapped down his match of four cards.

"He was looking at my cards," Wrench said. Then, turning to Matches, "And you. You were reading my mind or something, weren't you?"

Matches gave a smug grin but shook her head.

"Maybe," she said. "Or, maybe I'm just that skilled."

Dice scoffed.

"That lucky, more like it," he said.

Matches filtered her cards through her fingers and reshuffled them into the deck.

"I want another round," Wrench said.

"Well, what does it look like I'm doing?" Matches asked.

Matches dealt out the cards, and the game began anew.

"Where did you learn to play cards so well?" Wrench asked angrily, as Matches took another card from him.

"I've lived on random streets," Matches said. "It's pretty easy to win radials while gambling... So, I learned how to play cards as good and fast as I could."

Wrench clicked his tongue and nodded. Dice took his turn, and another one Wrench's cards.

"It's just a stupid game of chance..." Wrench said, slapping his cards down.

"It's a mixture of the luck of the draw, being able to interpret somebody else's facial expressions, and assuming who has what card..." Dice said. He cleared his throat. "Maybe not as much chance as I initially said."

Wrench's eyes widened.

"Oh come on! Not you too..."

"Do you want to play a different game?" Dice asked. "If you have a projector in that pack of yours, we could —."

"Not chess. God... Anything but chess!"

Matches smirked.

"For a guy who hasn't played a game with anyone for decades, you sure complain a lot," she said.

Wrench snorted.

"Decades? Not quite," he said. "I've played quite a few games with the communities in the Pit. I used to head over there whenever I needed to trade for some new batteries, and the like... They were awful to play with, though. Cheaters. Thankfully, it's been months since those rats have had me play a game with them."

Matches rolled her eyes, as she took another one of Wrench's cards.

"I wonder why..."

"I actually thought that I was pretty good. I won most of those games that I played."

Matches ruffled her cards.

"Even if your luck was even twice as good with them as it is with us, I don't see that being the case."

"Hey! I didn't have to deal with either of you punks when I was playing with them... We played the game straight, and casually. Up until the end there, anyway..."

"Oh, I'm sure..."

Dice took one of Matches' cards. Already his third match. A quick game.

"What are the other communities like in the Pit, anyway?" Dice asked.

Wrench's hand froze in midair. Regret sunk into Dice's stomach. A minute drained away, but Wrench still didn't put his card down.

"Most of them are insane, or dead," said Wrench. "Those parasite bots? They're a vice that's rampant throughout the Pit... Though, even more rampant is hatred toward other robots... Other people... Hatred in general, really. It drives people mad."

He set his card down.

"There's a reason why I live alone: I'm the only person who I've found to be worth trusting."

Matches smirked.

"You don't trust anyone? Sounds like you're living the life..."

"You haven't lived in the Pit," said Wrench.

"I've been in worse places."

"Sure you have..." His eyes lifted to the roof of the transport car. "That said: you know better than me what goes on in people's minds. The way we think. Plot. Scheme. How can you know all of that, and still trust people?"

Matches paused. A look of doubt passed over her face.

"Maybe it's because I can read minds that I trust people," Matches finally said.

She pulled out a card. She smiled.

"I guess that's the game," Matches said, splaying her four matched cards across the table.

"You're definitely cheating somehow," said Wrench, with a grumble.

…

A man's face. Footage of his chamber. His eyes were too docile. His skin was pallid. His body... frail.

Dice's eyes leapt to a brain monitor in the left-hand corner. Neural activity in the frontal lobe was significant, but still insufficient.

Dice pressed reject. The camera feed flickered to black.

Dozens of other genetic specimens wheeled by the screen. Some superior. Some inferior.

There were more who were inferior than not.

The camera footage, brain monitors and pictures flickered away. A barrage of code stormed in its place. Dice danced through it until it had flickered away as well, and his screen turned to glass.

Dice let out a sigh and looked to both sides of him. Nobody else had finished — predictable. Everybody was so slow. Why? Dice couldn’t tell. Discerning the genetic viability of subjects was intuitive. Reviewing code and removing the defects? Even more so.

He waited for his glass screen to descend back into the ground, announcing his success before all the others. Yet, it was locked in its place. Dice nudged the top, hoping it’d make the difference.

His reflection remained.

Dice turned back to each side of him. Other people were starting to finish. The glass screens still weren’t starting down.

He’d been at this for so long, that a time before seemed like a distant blur… However, he’d never seen anything like this.

The sound of fingers tapping against glass ceased. The room stood still. The lingering glass reflection taunted Dice. He wanted to move. Wanted to escape. Yet, he couldn’t.

“Great work,” a voice blared from the ceiling.

Dice winced and turned down his hearing aid. It’d been so long since he’d last needed to hear that voice — the trumpet of hell.

Dice’s screen blinked, opening camera footage on a new chamber. A white capsule. In the left-hand corner was yet another brain monitor. Below it were two buttons: artificial, and biological.

“Your work on genetics and brainwave activity has been instrumental in the progression of our facilities,” the voice continued. “Only the truth is effective. Join the collective.”

“Only the truth is effective,” Dice chanted along with the rest of the room. “Follow the collective.”

There was a slow clap from the speakers.

“Good,” said the voice. “Very good. Now, there’s a new challenge that we’d like to add to your usual analytical work — we need you to determine the difference between a robotic, human android, and a human. Why? Certain androids have infiltrated our facility... Escaped our notice. We need you to be able to pinpoint which is which, in order to protect us."

The room erupted in a series of chants.

"Only the truth is effective. Join the collective."

The voice laughed.

"Settle down... Settle down... The examples we’re going to be giving you today are merely trial subjects. They won't be the truly threatening ones. However, they will still be challenging — technology has increased to the point where differences are miniscule, and tricky to catch. Though, we’re confident that you’ll be able to perform.”

The room went up in tensed sighs and twitches.

“And, if you don’t perform? Well…”

There was a beep as somebody pressed the wrong button. A jolt of electricity. A thud, as they collapsed to the ground.

“That’ll happen, followed by a vacation in the sonic chamber. But, once again — no need to fear. We’re confident in your abilities.”

Dice's eye twitched. He licked his lips.

The person on the screen seemed human in every respect. There was no reason to keep them. Yet, the longer Dice stared, the more off-key they truly seemed. There was something off about the way they blinked. They looked around the room. When he compared these actions with the brain monitors, there seemed to be a shorter delay between neural activity and motor activity than he was used to.

Thuds and jolts erupted all around Dice. Though, Dice didn't waver from pressing "artificial".

The screen went down. Dice looked around himself. Most of the room had fallen to the ground, and were being dragged away by robotic arms to sonic chambers. Dice shuddered as he counted the number of people remaining — six. Including himself.

"To those that survived this test-run — astounding work," said the voice. "However, this is just the beginning. There's so much more ahead of you..."

Chapter 16:

Riding the transport car was a special kind of misery. The temperature was perpetually cold. The car constantly grinded and bumped against the glass walls of its tube, making sleep impossible. The seating areas were cramped. Though, that was to say nothing about the seats themselves: they were built of "smart-cushions" that would sink under Dice's weight, leaving him with the feeling of being smothered. Worse yet, their upholstery was coarse, scraping against his skin whenever he laid down.

Dice spent most of his time staring out the window of the tube. He learned to find solace in the constant stream of dirt, trash, and loose pipes.

Three days of this clung at Dice's face, etching hollows under his eyes. Restlessness flooded his veins. Dreams casted nets at him, leaving him in a domain somewhere between wakefulness and slumber.

Dice swept a strand of hair out of his eyes. It'd been three days — three days of holding himself together. He just needed to maintain it. His eyes lolled into the door. He raised the torn watch on his sleeve to his face.

"How many hours do you think we have left until arrival?"

"Somewhere between six and seven," Wrench said, with a grunt.

It wouldn't be long. Dice jumped between his watch and Wrench, waiting for the hours to drop away. The slight bumps and quakes of their car morphed from a nuisance to a countdown.

Wrench slammed a stack of three plates on their makeshift table. Dice kept his gaze on his watch, pretending to ignore him.

"Fresh grub," Wrench said, proudly. "This is my last ration. After that? We're out of food."

Dice closed his eyes. He listened to Matches get up from her seat and walk to the table.

"I know you're not actually sleeping," said Wrench. "Now, get up and eat. You don't have to like the sludge, but you have to force it down. I can't have you passing out on us once we're there."

Dice clenched his eyes tighter. A stench wafted up his nose — a mixture of smog and rotten cheese. He breathed through his mouth.

"You hear what I said? Get. Up." Wrench gave a clap of the hands. "If you don't? You get the enviable duty of carrying my pack."

With a moan, Dice lugged himself from his chair and went to the table. A greenish sludge waited in his spot. Dice poked it. The texture was lumpy, and rubbery. Yet, he stole a glance of Wrench wolfing it down, his back turned from them.

"This might be the only food we get today," Wrench said, pulling his mask back down and looking over his shoulder. "Eat up."

Dice didn't even take a second look. He wouldn't eat it if it had been the last food on Earth.

"Dice, you don't want to let it get cold do you?" Matches said.

Dice suppressed a gag as he put the food in his mouth. He tried ignoring the rancid taste and swallowed. As the sludge stuck in his throat, Dice snatched Wrench's water dispenser and guzzled it down. A bitter aftertaste remained.

"This is nice," Wrench said.

"The food?" Dice asked, his face construing in disgust.

"No — well, yes. But, also: I've finally gone ten minutes without you asking me for the damn arrival time."

"I've been enjoying your food too much to remember..."

Matches chuckled.

"Truly five-star material right here," she said.

Wrench turned back to face them and set an empty plate down. Pulling a greasy rag out of his pocket, he pretended to clean it.

"I could still turn this thing back around to the Genoa District," Wrench said, his eyes biting. "I'll have you know, happen to have been considered the best chef in my part of the Pit."

"You were the only chef..." Matches said.

"Still..."

"… not impressive."

Wrench snorted.

"I was going to tell you both that we're closer to the Gordon District than I've been leading you on. But, now? Not so much."

Dice shriveled a bit inside. Closer than they thought? How much closer? His eyes weighed down on him again. He needed to know.

"Come one: stop stringing us along," Matches said. "How far away are we from the Gordon District?"

"Half an hour," said Wrench. He pulled his gun out of his bag and toyed with the trigger.

Matches made a fake sniffle.

"I'm going to miss you so much when you're gone..." Matches said, playfully slapping Wrench on the back. "How are we supposed to find a cook as good as you?"

Wrench shifted the gun from safety to kill, stood up and stared out the window of the car.

"I was thinking..." he said.

"Don't you just hate doing that?" said Matches.

Wrench gave Matches a look.

"Well you should know, Mrs. Mind-reader," he said. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Neither of you are familiar with the Gordon District. I'm— I'm familiar with the place. Um... Vaguely. Besides: we all saw what happened when we tried escaping the Pit. We needed each other to survive. I'm thinking you might need me for a little while longer..."

"I think that we should be fine," said Dice.

"No, I insist," Wrench said, putting a hand on Dice's shoulder. Dice brushed it away. "I wouldn't feel right if I didn't make sure that you made it all the way to your destination. Dropping you off — it isn't enough. You hired me as a guide, not a chaperone. Besides... I and the Gordon District have some catching up to do."

More time with Wrench could only be a nightmare. Dice looked to Matches for help. His chest sunk. Matches' eyes were brimming with enthusiasm.

"That's great," said Matches. "I'm not familiar with the ins and outs of the Gordon District, so we could definitely use your help."

Dice shook his head.

"I don't think that we have enough radials to pay you any more than we've already offered."

Wrench kept himself on the window for a moment, before turning to face Dice.

"That should be fine," Wrench said. "I don't need more money. Knowing that I've gone above and beyond in doing my job will be payment enough."

Wrench looked at Matches.

"Now where in the Gordon District are you two supposed to be going to?"

Dice glanced at Matches. It suddenly occurred to him that she'd never told him where they were going in the Gordon District.

"It's a restaurant," Matches said. "The biggest one in the Gordon District. I forget what it's called... Plateau's?"

Wrench nodded.

"I knew that place. It wasn't exactly a 'destination' when I knew it though..."

"I've heard people talk about it all the way back in the Monterey District. It's a major hub for special keys — Omega Keys. They can override any computer system, including the ones that run border wall security between the U.R.O and the Kelvin Union. We absolutely need to go there."

Wrench gave a nod. His pupils shrunk. His posture dipped. His fists clenched.

"Right... the Kelvin Union..." Wrench said. He coughed. "Come to think of it, there is one stipulation that I need before helping you go through with this."

Matches gave a quizzical look.

"What do you need?"

Wrench turned back to the window.

"I've known the sorts of people who try leaving for the Kelvin Union. Never met one that should've. Before I can help you with this, I need to know — what kind of people are you? What is this escapade all about? And... What am I getting into?"

"You're not getting yourself into anything. All we're trying to do is deliver a package. Back me up on this Dice."

"Bullshit!"

Wrench punched the glass of their car. There was a crunch as his fist left a crack. Dice suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.

"Tell me what's going on," Wrench said. "You have those freaky mind powers. And he — there's something off about him, too. We all know that you're not headed to the Kelvin Union to deliver "a package", so don't waste my time with bringing that excuse back up... I want the real reason."

Wrench turned to glare at Matches. After an extended stare-off, Matches let out a sigh.

"We're running from the U.R.O military," Matches said. "We're fugitives. The government wants my abilities, and they want Dice dead for trying to help me."

"You have the U.R.O military after you!?"

Wrench looked down and shook his head.

"And, what tipped the U.R.O off that you were so special in the first place?"

"Hell do I know..."

Wrench held his glare.

"You do know. I can see it in your empty eyes. Are you going to keep lying through your teeth, or are you going to start spilling?"

Matches leaned back. Wrench continued to glare, but to withering effect. Finally, he shifted to Dice.

The fury in Wrench's eyes was palpable. Though, more than that was the fear.

Yet, it was the fear in his eyes that made Dice most afraid.

"Spill," Wrench said.

"I'm a former U.R.O police officer, who got himself wrapped up with the wrong person," Dice said. "As for her? I couldn't tell you more if I wanted to."

Wrench's eyes pressed him further, before finally giving in.

"That's really all you know about her, isn't it?"

Dice nodded.

"Yeah."

Wrench shook his head again and scoffed.

"And that was enough for you?"

Dice nodded again. "None of us know hardly anything about one another... Maybe that's all the more reason to be suspicious. But, maybe it's all the more reason to trust."

Wrench rubbed his hands together.

"Alright then. I'll take it. I hate it, but I'll take it."

"There's one more thing..." said Matches, clearing her throat. "The U.R.O military has a tracker on me. Its signal is drowned out under here, I'm sure. It was drowned out by all of the noise in the Pit as well. But, once we're back above ground? They'll be in the area, and they'll be flipping over buildings looking for us."

"Figures," Wrench said. "Shaping up to be a real party... Anything else I should know before mixing myself in with this suicide-mission?"

"We might die."

"Thanks for the heads up."

Wrench went to the front of the transport car and yanked down several levers on the dashboard. The faint hum of the car rose to a high-pitched screech.

"Prepare yourselves!" Wrench shouted. "We only have a little over twenty minutes now."

Only twenty minutes.

Despite hours of waiting for this moment, Dice suddenly felt a lump form in his throat. He was completely unready.

"I'm glad that Wrench is willing to help us," Dice said. "But, there's one thing that I need to clarify before he comes."

Matches and Wrench turned to look at him.

"You aren't going to be preparing anymore food for us, correct?"

They burst into laughter.

"I wasn't joking."

The transport car's screeching steadily loudened. Dice steadily lowered his hearing aid. He counted down each minute. Though, the closer he felt they were to the end, the longer that the minutes dragged. The seconds. Dice's internal fortitude unraveled to thread.

"We're about to arrive!" Wrench said. "Tighten your seatbelts."

Dice's heart fluttered, and he took in a lengthy breath of satisfaction. The wait for those words had been far too long.

He looked out the window and watched the tunnel fly by. They moved at an increasing speed. The ride was nearly over, after days of waiting. Yet, the lump in Dice's throat remained. Something about it felt all wrong.

"Finally, I won't be stuck between these stuffy seats," Matches said, kicking her legs up to the back of the seat in front of her. "I hate these seats..."

"You're sitting in the best seat in the transport car," Wrench said.

"Still a bad seat."

As Wrench and Matches chuckled, Dice whipped his eyes through the transport car. The car was still increasing in speed. The screeching from the brakes had softened back to something closer to a hum. Dice stood to his feet, and felt g-forces rippling through his skin.

"Aren't we supposed to be coming to a stop?" Dice asked.

"Obviously," Wrench said, with a snort.

He muttered something else under his breath. However, his muttering fell away when the transport car hit a bump, thrusting Wrench into the dashboard. An alarm blared.

"Dammit!" Wrench said. He pulled at several levers on the dashboard. The transport car continued gaining speed. The brick walls outside the window were just a uniform smear.

"Why aren't we slowing down?" Matches asked.

Dice went up to the dashboard. All of the dials were in the proper positions. There shouldn't have been any problems. His eyes gravitated toward the engine thermometer. The temperature was in the red, and climbing.

"It's overworking itself," Dice said, scanning all of the controls on the dashboard.

There was supposed to be an emergency brake. Where was the emergency brake?

"This doesn't make any sense," said Wrench. "We've been slowing down speed for the past two hours... The engine shouldn't be spiking like this."

"Did you have the engine running while we were braking?" Dice asked.

Wrench paused, before finally saying, "Yes."

"You're supposed to shut the engine off when we're in braking mode," Dice said. "The vacuum tube should've been more than enough to keep us on pace."

Wrench whipped his head back and put his hand on his forehead.

"Well, I'm not a master at driving transport tubes," Wrench said.

"Well, you might've gotten us killed," said Dice.

Matches unbuckled herself from her seat and walked toward the dashboard.

"And here I was, thinking it was Wrench's food that would ultimately kill us," Matches said.

She bent down. Dice tried to ignore her and continued searching for the emergency brake. There had to be one somewhere. Was the transport car really that old?

There was a click. Then, an ear-piercing squeal. Dice fell into dashboard, and narrowly stopping himself with his hands. He stood up and looked to his left — Wrench hadn't been so lucky. There was a dent in his mask.

"I think I might've found the emergency brake," Matches said.

"You don't say?" said Wrench.

Dice looked back down at the dashboard. The impact of Wrench's forehead had left a small crater. Sparks flew from empty sockets and mangled knobs.

Dice was jerked backward. He glanced at the engine's thermometer — its screen was illegible static.

"The emergency brakes are shot now..." said Matches. "Just great."

"Even better: the dashboard controls are down," Dice said.

"It's not like they were all that useful in the first place," said Wrench, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, they're definitely not useful now."

G-forces hugged Dice's bones and drew at his skin. He looked ahead, and his grip tightened around the edge of the dashboard. A thick wall was at the end of their tube, waiting to greet them. Dice winced. He had about a minute. It wasn't going to be enough. He braced for impact.

There was a crack.

"Great," said Matches.

Dice looked to the window on his left. The dent from Wrench's fist — it was growing.

"That crack is nothing compared to what's about to happen to us," Wrench said, with a huff.

The crack kept Dice's eyes hostage. Despite all of the stress weighing down on him, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Wrench, do you have your gun on you?" Dice asked.

"Yes," said Wrench, unlatching it from his side. "That is, unless you're thinking of shooting yourself."

"With my aim? Might as well be."

Dice snatched the gun from Wrench's hands. He aimed the gun at the crack. A flicker went by his eyes as his finger hovered over the trigger.

A dark ooze... A man's face... Haynam's? No... Somebody else.

Something crept up Dice's throat. He cinched his eyes and pressed the trigger. The window went into a melody as it ruptured. The air fled from Dice's lungs. He opened his eyes, and pressed the trigger again. A hole ripped through the vacuum tube, and the car began to slow.

"Smart," Wrench said, under his breath. His eyes jumped back to the wall that was still ahead of them. "We're still not going to slow down fast enough."

Dice shook his head.

"It's not about slowing the car fast enough," Dice said. "Grab what—."

Dice's voice faded to nothing. He spoke words, but no sound came. He choked. The air in their car was all but gone.

They had ten seconds left, at best. Dice gave Wrench a steely gaze. Wrench's eyes were bloodshot and bewildered. Finally, Wrench went to grab his bag. Dice turned back to the hole in their car. He needed complete focus.

Dice held up three fingers and crouched into a jumping stance. Wrench and Matches came at his side and mimicked his crouch.

The first finger went down. The second finger. The third.

They jumped. Dice pressed the trigger on the gun. Dice closed his eyes as shards of glass rained in his hair. His stomach leapt to his throat. He hit the ground.

"I didn't sign up to become a daredevil," Wrench said with a groan. "Anyway: welcome to the subterranean levels..."

He raised a fist, and promptly dropped it back down.

Dice's left leg was roaring with pain. Bits of glass stuck in his hands as he struggled to stand. He brushed them away, leaving fresh cuts.

There was a crash. A quake. The glass tittered as it flaked onto the ground. Dice floundered forward as he tried to keep his balance. Steadying, he turned back to the brick wall. It had collapsed into a heap of rubble. Their car, into a deformed metal corpse.

That could've been them.

Dice shuddered — it was the latent shock. That was all.

Dice scanned their surroundings. They were still in a tunnel. However, despite it being constructed of primitive brick, it looked younger than the portion of tunnel from the Pit. Signs of corrosion were only slight, and the bricks carried a vibrant reddish hue. If it hadn’t been for a stream of water dripping from the ceiling, Dice might've even been convinced it was only a few years old.

That, and the massive hole their car had put in the wall.

"Have any of those stimulator injectors on you, Wrench?" Matches asked.

Matches had managed to pull herself up from the ground. Wrench hadn't been so lucky. Despite his thick armor, he was still letting out faint moans and grunts.

"I used them all," Wrench said, finally rolling onto his side to push himself up. "After sitting in a car with you two for two weeks, I needed all of the stimulator injections that I could get..."

"Five days," said Matches.

"Three," Dice corrected.

"Might as well have been three lifetimes..."

Wrench readjusted his mask, taking an extra moment to feel around the dent in it.

"He's going to need a new one," said Dice.

"Or, he could just let us see his face," said Matches.

"Or, get a new face entirely."

"Or, maybe he could just keep his mask, even with the dents," said Wrench, taking his gun back from Dice. "Now, if we're done chatting it up, I think that we should probably get out of here."

He blasted a hole in the wall — a stairway cleared out of the rubble. Then he turned around, pointing back at the hole the transport car had put in the wall.

"The structural integrity of this tunnel is compromised," Wrench said. Wrench started in a brisk hobble toward the stairway. "I'm not sure how much longer we have. I'm not in the mood to find out."

"You never seem to be 'in the mood' for anything," Matches said, as they began ascending the stairs.

"Having you shut up for a goddamn minute would be nice."

As they ascended higher in the subterranean levels, Dice was struck by constant graffiti — images of guns, mutilated robots, and torn quantum processors, paired with phrases such as "death to robots". Most of it was crudely done in an oily paint. Vitriol foamed from every stroke, with some of the letters dribbling from jutting brick and onto the floor.

The subterranean levels didn't smell any more appealing than the graffiti looked. Each breath of air was accompanied by sulfur and rot. Where was it coming from?

"Herein lies the death of our oppressors."

On second thought, it probably didn't matter.

"I remember when they started this subterranean tunnel," said Wrench, nostalgia lining his voice. "It was huge — a joint project between the Gordon District and the Genoa District. It was supposed to connect us as a people and provide more wealth. More opportunity."

Wrench paused to scoff.

"It definitely connected us — especially with the crime in the Genoa District. That's why they had to board the tunnel up."

"You only vaguely know the place?" Matches asked.

Wrench shrugged.

"More or less."

There was a crunch as Matches stepped on a disembodied robotic leg. She shuffled away, edging against the wall. Dice and Wrench followed suit.

"I wonder what happened to this place," Wrench said. "But then... I should've known. An inevitability, really. You can always tell when a place is going to fall apart. Its roots — they're always diseased."

Dice nodded, but his eyes he stayed on the walls. How could anybody have predicted what it would become? Despite the bricks being younger, the messages on them were archaic, brimming with death.

"We're only a few flights below the surface," Wrench said. "Trust me: it might not be too pretty down here. But, up there? Nothing like it."

He was unusually chipper. His voice had the sound that could only be replicated by somebody coming back to something they loved. Coming back to their home.

Dice eyed another stream of dripping water. Would the Gordon District be anything like how Wrench seemed to remember it?

Dice couldn't imagine coming back to his home, only to find it in disrepair. Yet — where was his home? When he thought of the Monterey District, did it give him the same feeling that the Gordon District gave to Wrench?

He shook his head to get rid of the thought.

The air filled with a steam, and Dice's bodysuit chafed against his legs. Each flight of stairs was numbered now. First B-4. Then B-3. B-2.

They reached level B-1. Dice immediately took notice of the better upkeep, compared to the floors below. Graffiti was entirely absent. In place of bricks were platinum walls. Even the floor had a smooth metal finish. There wasn't a blemish — it couldn't have been more than a year old.

The steam rose to the ceiling, where the lights illuminated it in a golden glow. Wrench took in a satisfied breath of air.

Chapter 17:

"Yes," Wrench said. "Yes! This is home. It's as if I've never left."

Despite the gloss, Dice wasn't enraptured like Wrench. A few people were curled in the corner, sleeping in heater bags. It simply didn't add up.

"Are there supposed to be a lot of homeless people here?" Dice whispered.

Matches chuckled.

"Clearly you don't know anything about the Gordon District."

Dice's face went red. Though, when he looked into Wrench's eyes, he read shock. Disappointment.

They climbed a ladder in the floor and pushed open a hatch. Blaring light flooded Dice's eyes, making them water. He blinked a few times to adjust.

He found himself staring out into a vast, barren expanse. A few towering buildings took prominence over the landscape, and Dice could only see a few scattered crowds of people off in the distance.

"I'm finally back!" Wrench said, stepping out of the tunnel. As he did, the ground hummed under his feet. Dice went to look down, but Wrench patted him on the back and nudged his chin up.

"Look at those skyscrapers!" Wrench said. "Nothing like those smokestacks all the way back in the Pit! They house millions of people... Millions of dreamers... Millions of meters high. It's a whole world up there. It was — it was my world, once."

Dice looked. These skyscrapers weren't the complex streaks of cubism Dice knew from the Monterey District. Rather, they were immense, sky-high, and compact. Every inch was calculated. Every rod and window was in uniform with the rest. There wasn't a superfluous element. As Dice's eyes attempted to scale their summits, he had to pull them back down. They went too high, and the sun was too bright. Dice wiped away some of the sweat beading on his forehead.

He looked back to the ground. It was made of pearly blue panels for as far as he could see. Wrench's eyes followed, and he let out a laugh.

"Surprised by the solar panels, huh?" Wrench asked. "You honestly haven't heard anything about the Gordon District, have you?"

Dice shook his head.

"I've heard people say that it was an 'energy district' once or twice. But, I never knew it was... Well... This."

"The whole district is covered in solar panels. Centuries back, this was all desert. However, as time progressed, it was realized that this was a perfect spot to harness solar energy."

"That makes sense," said Dice. "I've always wanted to see a district like this — a 'solar city' — like the Brently District. They've always seemed like little more than a dream until now, though."

"The Gordon District is far better than the Brently District. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Wrench chuckled.

"Well, it was... The Gordon District now though? I've never seen it so empty." He clucked his tongue. "I know we used to call this place the 'underground city', but I still remember when we could hardly get people to stop walking across every square inch of our solar panels. God... I wish that I'd been here to see this place fall apart."

Matches' eyes floated off in the distance. She let out a sigh and started through the sea of solar panels.

"No you don't," Matches said. "Trust me. It was a travesty... I travelled here for a couple of days once, while it was going through a major crash. Not smart."

"I don't care what it was like. This place was — was an old friend. And, now it's gone... I never got to say goodbye when it would've meant most."

As Dice and Wrench followed after Matches, Wrench kicked at the ground and let out a wry snort.

"I guess it doesn't matter all that much though," he said. "It was always a dump, even if I never saw it that way."

Dice was at a loss for words. He stared into the barren space. It was disarming. What could it have taken for a city to fall so low?

The glare of the panels burned his eyes. Dice tried shielding them with his hand, but to no avail.

"Wrench — you still have those goggles?"

Wrench handed down a pair, and Dice switched the setting from 'night-vision' to 'shade'. The strain eased from his vision. Though, the heat remained. Dice rolled up the sleeves of his bodysuit and popped a hydration tablet in his mouth. There was never a breeze when he needed one most. Or, was it just that he never noticed how much a good breeze helped until it was already gone?

It had to have been the former.

A group people surged past them.

"We're about there," said Wrench.

They arrived at the foot of one of the scrapers. Crowds of people bustled in and out of the building's doors in a wild rush. Instincts learned in the Monterey District kicked in as Dice read the faces of the people walking by — bloodshot eyes, and a red nose? Probably fired. Hands clutching an unusual lump under a coat? Smuggled energy packets. Baggy eyes, and heavy steps? Overworked.

Dice weaved among them, his eyes remaining anchored on the entrance. Right. Left. Left. Right. Left. Hands resting on the door handle, Dice looked back. Wrench and Matches were still swamped in the waves of people. Dice smirked.

"You know, I think that was worse than the army of killer robots," Matches said, once she and Wrench made it past the crowd.

"It isn't as if I didn't already hear you say that about a dozen times, while you were stepping on my heels," said Wrench.

"Your welcome for getting you through the crowd."

"Is that what that was?"

"Hey: what I did was at least better than weaseling away."

Matches shot Dice a look.

"I was just trying to get to the other side," said Dice. "I figured that you guys could take care of yourselves."

Matches shrugged, and craned her neck up toward the towering building.

"You think too highly of us."

She elbowed Wrench, and then pointed toward the building's top floors.

"So, is the place supposed to be up there?" asked Matches. "Because, if so, that's going to be one hell of a view."

Dice nodded in agreement but trembled inwardly. It would be too much of a view.

"Sorry, but we're not getting the penthouse treatment today," said Wrench, pushing the doors to the open. "The restaurant is underground. In the 'subterranean levels', or the 'ratholes' of the city, if you will."

"Sounds like we're headed to a classy operation," said Matches.

"Something like that."

They entered a lobby lit by fluorescent blue lights. The walls were thick marble slabs, and the floor was a milky surface. People dressed in eye-popping neon outfits and neon robots swarmed the place.

"A trade center," Wrench said, slapping Dice on the back. "This pace is full of them."

Dice didn't have long to absorb it all. Wrench took a sharp right turn into another stairwell. After turning through a series of doors, Wrench took them through one labeled "subterranean levels".

Steam smothered back around Dice. The term 'rathole' was far too generous a title.

They were in a passageway of cheap stone tiling, coated with layers of grime and dirt. Dice bumped into one of the tiles, knocking it to the ground — though, there was no avoiding brushing against the wall. The passageway was cramped, with energy pipes running all throughout it. Even the ceiling was only a few centimeters above his head.

"This doesn't make any sense," Dice said. "Just up there... It was so —."

"So glamorous?" Wrench said. "And down here, it's a travesty? Get used to it. That's what it's like here. See, the Gordon District isn't just a solar city. It's also geothermal — it collects energy from a complex system of heat pumps, built deep into the ground. The geothermal operation though? Not nearly as lauded, for some reason... Oddly enough, people have a hard time respecting those who work in the dirt."

They came to a sealed metal door. Wrench brought his eye to a scanner, and it opened up to another, wider passageway.

"Free storage units! Free energy storage!"

A marketplace.

Wrench turned back to them and winked.

"See? Wouldn't have gotten in here without me. They still remember my eye-scans, after all these years..."

The passageway was just as crowded as the lobby above had been. People were stepping over one another, making trades, cooking food, and sleeping in heater bags.

However, their demeanor was in sharp contrast to that of the people of the lobby. Their hair was disheveled. Their bodysuits were filthy and full of tears. Most of them looked like they hadn't showered in weeks, and smelled like they hadn't showered in months.

It was only when Dice remembered what he was wearing that he stopped staring.

"Is this where you used to live?" Matches asked.

"This place looks exactly like where I used to live," said Wrench. "Same structure. Same buildings. Same cracks in the wall. Even some of the same people. But... It's not where I used to live."

Matches twiddled her thumbs. Dice looked to his feet.

Dodging the glances and shouts of hecklers and hagglers, they made their way deeper through the tunnels. Dice kept his head down, only stopping to give passing glances at holes carved into the walls that were meant to serve as shops, houses, or trade fronts. Every so often, Dice would accidentally catch the eye of somebody. This was always followed by Dice shooting his eyes back down, and quickening his steps. In the eyes of each person, there was immense pain and disillusionment.

It wasn't his pain to bear though. He had to keep reminding himself that, until it was branded in his mind.

They didn't stop until they'd arrived at an especially nice hole in the wall. It was complete with sliding doors, a holographic sign, and a flickering rug that led into the entrance.

"This place used to be a tourist attraction," Wrench said, regret lining his voice. "When it was brand-new, there was nothing quite like it. I remember when they decided to turn it into what it is now though. Chasing radials — it ruins things."

They started toward the entrance, but Dice felt somebody grab him around the waist, and pull him toward a wall.

"Would you like a fresh robot arm? Maybe a head?"

It was a man with wild eyes. Disfigured robot limbs were bundled in his arms. Around his neck was a necklace, with a threatening razor blade hooked in the center. Dice could smell the desperation and rage seeping from under his demeanor.

"I already have all the robot parts that I need," Dice said, trying to push the man aside.

The man was inconsolable. He gnashed his teeth and groped at the razor around his neck. He yanked it closer to Dice's head. Dice continued to push, but he was pinned.

Matches and Wrench came behind him and pulled the man away. Wrench threw the man to the ground, taking a moment to stare him down, before finally walking toward the entrance.

"Radial scavengers," Wrench muttered.

Wrench tugged at the handle, but the door throttled in resistance. Wrench tugged it a few more times, before finally noticing the eye-scanner built into the side of the door.

"Of course," Wrench said. "Plateau's — the nicest place in the subterranean levels, and it needs security now..."

"Not sure if it's so nice anymore..." Matches said, under her breath.

Wrench brought his eye to the scanner. After a moment of pause, the scanner let out a firm beep. The doors slid open, and with it came the sound of music.

Dice turned his hearing aid down. The music vibrated through the floor, despite the floor being made of armored plating. He tried focusing in on the sounds of people laughing and chatting. Though, as he did, he found that to only be more trite and obnoxious than the music.

"My god," Wrench said, ogling at the ceiling. "They kept the lighting system exactly the same, even after all these years. I thought that they would've needed to replace it by now."

Wrench's voice was huskier than it had been before. He was trying to disguise it. But, from who?

Dice followed Wrench's eyes to the ceiling. The lighting system was flickering like mad. It probably had another week, at most.

"You could find a better lighting system than that just lying around in the Pit," Dice said.

Wrench gave Dice a stone-cold glare. Dice suddenly wanted to crawl out of his skin. He backed away from Wrench and followed after Matches. As he did, he surveyed the restaurant. In the back, there was a bar serving alcohol tablets and stimulator injections. Ahead of him, there was a ring of tables. However, nobody sat at them. Instead, they acted as a stage for a couple of singers.

Godawful singers.

Everybody was standing to eat, instead — not that they were really eating. All of the food the restaurant was in the form of food pods. They snugly magnetized onto the side of a person's bodysuit, and had thin, detachable tubes that would pump into a person's mouth. As Dice came past one, he studied it dubiously. It didn't look quite as nice as his old feeding apparatus, and it was unlikely that the food would be much better than Wrench's sludge. The restaurant's deterioration was a testament to that.

As they made it closer to the back of the restaurant, Dice caught notice of two people in slick, pressed bodysuits. A man and a woman. They were sitting at a bar, and a small crowd of people had gathered around them. The two leaned lazily in their chairs as they popped scoops of alcohol tablets into their mouths from out of a bowl. Dice looked at the bartender. He was cheering them on.

"They're getting all of that alcohol for free?" Dice asked. "They'll be dead in an hour."

"And you wonder why they're getting it for free," Matches said. "In all seriousness though, they're just the people that I'm looking for. The gatekeeper twins."

"Who?"

As they approached the crowd, Dice took a look back at Wrench. Though, he'd seemed to have disappeared.

Maybe he was just catching up with some old friends.

"That has to be at least twenty tablets!" somebody shouted.

"Twenty-three from Billard!"

Dice and Matches were now standing among the circle formed around the gatekeeper twins. Dice turned his aid further down. The speakers were just overhead, and the people around him had begun pounding their fists on the counter and stomping their feet on the ground. Dice looked to his side — Matches had joined in.

Dice folded his arms as he observed everybody's slacking jaws, flushed skin-tones, and glazed eyes. As Matches went to grab take an alcohol tablet of his own, Dice gave her a nudge and tried to pull her hand away.

"Not now," Dice said. "We need all of our wits about us."

"Last time I checked, you didn't have any wit," Matches said, popping an alcohol tablet into her mouth. Though, after she'd swallowed it, she raised her other hand — the tablet was still in it. "Sleight of hand."

Dice's eyes narrowed as he backtracked to when he could've missed Matches' trick. Nobody had ever slipped anything passed him before. That wasn't supposed to happen.

"Twenty-eight from Jade!" Matches shouted, joining into the countdown.

Billard's head rolled back as he tried popping a final capsule into his mouth. Despite Billard's attempts to conceal it, Dice knew that he wasn't going to be able to swallow the capsule. Nausea was tugging at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Sure enough, Billard spit the capsule out and raised his hands in surrender.

"Jade wins," Billard said, his lips curdling as he rubbed his stomach.

Half the group around Dice erupted with cheers. The other half grumbled as they gave away their energy packets.

"I would've won, if I'd bet on him just a few hours ago," one of them moaned.

"Sure you would've," Jade said, pumping her fist up in the air. "That'll be a thousand radials to me, by the way!"

Dice remained stoic, fixating his eyes on Billard. Billard drew himself up to his full height and cast a scowl at him. The muscles in Billard's arms bulged. Dice took a second glance at the bowl that in Billard's hands — it was the hollowed-out head of a robot.

Billard stepped out of the light and into shadow, his chestnut hair turning to a shadowy black. Dice struggled to see Billard's eyes from out of under his thick brow.

"And, what have you come here for?" Billard asked, with a hiss. The crowd around Dice went quiet, and a few people slipped away. Billard took a look at Matches, and jumped back to Dice. "I haven't seen either of you around here before... And I know just about everybody in these parts. You're not a radial scavenger, are you? Because, if so, you chose the wrong place to crash."

Billard towered over Dice. However, Dice studied the way that Billard's hands awkwardly clutched at his clothes. The slight wavering in his expression. He was putting on an act.

"No," Dice said, firmly.

Billard stepped back, aghast. Though, Dice wasn't surprised in the slightest — Billard only was able to put on the appearance of rigidity.

Jade came up from behind Billard.

"What's going on here?" she asked. Her arm shifted behind Billard. A concealed gun.

"We're just here to have a good time," Matches said.

"How did you get past our security?"

"Your security must've been on lunch break. All that we had to get past was a door."

Jade raised an eyebrow, and Billard clenched his fists.

"We were actually escorted here by a former resident," Matches continued. "But, his name escapes my mind, at the moment..."

"How convenient."

Jade stepped from behind Billard cocking her gun. Dice raised his hands but Matches remained relaxed. She pulled her deck of cards out of her sleeve and flipped them into the air.

"You and Billard... You run this District, right? The 'twin tornadoes'."

Billard smirked and tilted his chin toward the ceiling.

"That's what some people call us," he said. "As far as we're concerned though? We run an honest business, and 'trade' radials and energy packets for our... services on the side."

Matches slapped her deck of cards on the table.

"Good — because, I've heard a little rumor that you two never lose at your services..." Matches said. "And me? Well, I never lose either."

"That a challenge I'm hearing?"

Matches shrugged.

"From the looks of you two? 'Challenge' isn't quite the word I'd use..."

Jade's face furled in disgust.

"You think you can just come in here and beat us at our game."

"Something like that. I'm putting down ten thousand radials, for a game of spines. You in, or not?"

Billard and Jade's eyes ballooned. Dice's own eyes followed suit. He was almost positive his account was frozen. Even if it wasn't — ten thousand radials would clean him out. There'd be no way of paying Wrench.

Billard chuckled.

"I pity you, but at least you have guts."

"You in or not?" asked Matches.

"We need to verify that you have the funds," said Jade.

Reluctantly, Dice opened his cracked wrist-pad, and put his account on display — ten thousand radials.

Billard rapped his fingers on the table.

"Alright then. How many rounds are we going?"

"One," said Matches, dealing out the cards.

As Billard and Jade took their seats, sweat poured down Dice's face. He gave a glare at Matches and tapped on his wrist pad. She kept her eyes on the cards.

"Reds, Billard?" she said.

Billard forked his finger between his teeth, before setting a card down. Matches smirked and absorbed it into her pile.

"You got lucky," Billard said.

It wasn't the last time he said that. The game whizzed by, with Matches taking cards with ease. The lights over the bar flared in and out. The restaurant heated up. Dice readjusted the neck to his bodysuit.

When Matches spread her four matches down, and Billard pounded a fist on the table.

"I want a rematch," he said.

Matches leaned back.

"I want my ten thousand radials."

Jade sneered, and shook her head.

"Actually, on second thought..." Matches said. "There's something else that I'd like instead. You're called 'the gatekeeper twins' for a reason, right?"

Billard gave a look of bewilderment.

"Do you, by any chance, have Omega Keys?" Matches asked.

"Only those... intimately involved in our business should know about those," said Billard. "How do you—?"

Jade's sneer deepened.

"I knew it!" she shouted. "I had a feeling! Why didn't I trust it... She's Segue!"

Matches smiled and raised her hands.

"Guilty as charged. That's one name I go by," Matches said, laughing. "But, that's unrelated to the matter at hand. I won this cash, fair and square... and I need an Omega Key. Cough it up."

"Who is she?" Billard asked.

Dice's eye twitched, and he rubbed his forehead. He felt just as confused as Billard.

"She's that card-player who was squealing on the U.R.O — sending military forces after every game she played, win or lose," said Jade. "We're ruined."

"No, no, no," said Matches, in a rushed whisper. "That's not true at all. I'm not squealing on the U.R.O. I — I don't have time to explain... I'm headed to the Kelvin Union. I'll be off the backs of all your card-circuits once I'm there. Now, just give me the Omega Key."

"A U.R.O squealer trying to jump ship from the U.R.O, eh?" Billard asked. He balled his hand into a fist, and then relaxed it. "Or, better put: the U.R.O backstabbed a backstabber? Surprise, surprise. Have to admit it though — you did destroy me in that game..."

"You have an Omega Key to get us through the border, or not?" Dice asked.

Billard rolled his eyes.

"We did, but we gave our entire batch away a few days ago. It's going to take a few weeks before our partners send us new shipments..."

Dice looked for a waver. A crack. A flinch. Anything. Though, Billard gave nothing away.

Matches shook her head.

"We don't have a couple of weeks," she said. "You're sure that you don't have any spares? Please: all we need is the key, and the location to use it at. We won't demand any money."

Jade clenched her teeth, and her gun whirred.

"No keys means no keys. You really think you're in the position to be making demands? We could have this whole place turned against you if we wanted. You get out of our restaurant."

Billard shrugged, and motioned for Jade to lower her gun.

"You really think these people can do anything to hurt us?" he asked. "Anyway... We just don't have any. Nothing we can do about that. And giving you the location will be useless, unless you have a key."

Matches' eyes darted around, desperately. Dice's palms were sweaty. His pulse throbbed.

"We can at least get the extra ten thousand radials, right?"

Billard ran his finger through his teeth, then spat at the floor.

"'All we need is the key. We won't demand any money,'" he echoed. "Sorry — great game, but we don't owe you anything."

"That's not fair! You can't just do that!"

Matches ran her hand across her throat. Billard leaned forward, glowering over Dice.

"I've worked for years to accrue wealth and influence. The bottom of this district has fallen to tatters — infested by vermin, and robots. At the top are fat aristocrats, who leech off of what's been spoon-fed to them since they were in incubators. But, me? I'm still here. I've made it. Do you think I got here from caring about what's fair?"

His hand edged toward Dice's throat. Matches stood from her chair and took it.

"Fair enough," she said, giving it a firm shake. "Thanks for the game — always nice to find an even match. Now, before I leave, I do have one question: could you at least point us in the direction of who you sold the Omega Keys to?"

"It was a group of rebels," said Jade, still leering at Matches. "Never seen a group come down here so big. Not sure where they are right now... But, they said something about staging an attack on the U.R.O's capital, Omicron, and then hightailing it for Kelvin. I wasn't a fan of their plan myself, but they gave us a million radials... They cleaned us out of our entire stock of Omega Keys."

Matches closed her eyes, and put her head in his hands.

"Omicron?" Matches repeated.

"Is that too far?" asked Jade.

"No," Matches said weakly. She turned to Dice. "I guess we know where we're headed next..."

Dice could sense the anxiety in Matches voice. The way she walked. The weight in her posture. Yet, Dice's own thoughts were aglow.

Omicron? It was the place he'd dreamed of going to all his life. The crown jewel of the U.R.O. There was no other destination that could compare.

"We need to find Wrench."

Matches split into the crowd. Dice followed after and craned his neck for Wrench but was quickly lost among the crowd. Where was he?

"I've never been that terrified of anybody..." Dice said, once he'd caught up with Matches.

"Next time, let me do all of the talking," Matches said. "Those people run practically everything in the Gordon District. You don't mess with them, unless you're certain that you know what you're doing."

"Don’t we though? We needed that key. We should've kept pushing."

"They don't have it," Matches said, simply.

"We don't know that for sure."

"Yeah we do... Aside from myself, if anybody would know something like that, it would be you."

Matches gave a dry smile.

She was right. Dice was letting his emotions cloud his judgement. Of course the twins didn't have the key... If there was anything they'd seemed honest in, it was that.

"Where's Wrench in this place anyway?" Dice asked.

He sidestepped around a couple of people scowling at them. He held his head down and directed his eyes elsewhere. However, he only caught more hostile scowls.

"Not many people are receptive to us," Dice said.

"Yeah, I could've told you that," said Matches. "Word probably gets around fast in this place. The twins will have a target on our backs if we don't get out of here fast."

Dice dodged a hover dart as it whipped around the room. Dice glanced over at a group of people lined around a dart board. They weren't looking at the board.

"So, what was them calling you 'Segue' all about?" Dice asked. "You been around this place a lot, or something?"

"I think you should've figured out by now that my real name isn't 'Matches'," Matches said trying to avoid Dice's eye. "It's not Segue either. To tell the truth, I don't have one name. I don't have one home. I go with the moment."

They'd passed by the obnoxiously loud singers on the stage of tables. Dice took another look at the decaying ceiling, the weathered furniture, and the clusters of sickly people. There was still no sign of Wrench.

Matches tapped Dice on the arm and pointed toward a corner of the restaurant. Wrench was sitting there on a stool, with a stimulator injector. His back was turned to everybody else.

"I and Dice are leaving," Matches said, putting her hand on Wrench's shoulder. "Do you want us to try getting started on the radial transfer?"

Wrench turned around. His eyes were glazed over, and a moan came from out of behind his mask.

"No," he said. "Just... Just go."

"Wrench — what's wrong?"

"I never cared about the radials," he said, in a monotone. "I just... I just wanted a chance to get back to my home. But, there's no more honor here... No more beauty. I remember when the Gordon District place was a beacon. How did it get like this? How could I have let it?"

"It must be really hard to take in," Matches said. "I'm sorry. But... We're going to have to cut this short. There's no telling when the U.R.O will arrive. And, the keys that we were looking for? Not here. They're going to be at some rebellion being staged in Omicron. We're heading out of here on the next transport tube, before the U.R.O military has a chance to find us. If you want your radials, it's now or never."

Wrench stared off into space and didn't make a sound. Had he heard them?

"Wrench?" Dice said.

Matches spun on her heel and headed for the door.

"We really don't have time for this," said Matches. "We still need to collect supplies before we go."

Wrench remained in a stupor. Finally, Wrench turned back to the wall. Dice went after Matches.

"What do you think happened to him?" Dice asked, once he'd caught up.

"He's probably just in shock," said Matches. "I guess I can't fully blame him. It was his home."

Dice's thoughts split in two. He knew that he should've felt sympathy. Yet, there was a larger part of himself that only saw triviality. How could somebody let themselves care about a place so much? It was just a district. Just a small section of a district, really. It shouldn't have mattered.

Yet... It clearly did.

A group of people rushed by him and Matches. For a moment, Dice tried to push past. Then, he saw their eyes. They were clouded with fear. Disgust.

"What are they running from?" Dice asked.

"Somebody probably puked at the bar," Matches said.

"My bets are on Billard..."

Matches laughed. "Definitely a good thing that we're getting out of here then."

Dice looked over his shoulder, back at Wrench.

"How are we going to get supplies exactly?" Dice asked.

"There are plenty of vendors around here," said Matches. "I'm sure that we can find everything that we need at one of those."

Dice eyed his wrist.

"I just hope that my account isn't frozen."

"With our luck, it probably has," Matches said, with a chuckle.

Another person pushed past Matches. Somebody shouldered Dice in the chest. Dice clutched his bruise and went to shout. Though, he noticed that the breathing of the rushing crowd was unnaturally high, they were flailing their arms, and their legs were pumping as fast as they could. Dice turned up his hearing aid — their heartrates were above 120 BPM. Goosebumps pricked up his forearms.

"Matches," Dice said, tersely. "They're running in terror."

Matches pulled them back once they were close enough to see the door behind the swarms of people. A gash was melted through it, and several bodies were strewn in front of it.

"They found us," Matches said. She squinted. "They have the restaurant surrounded."

Dice and Matches followed the crowd to the back of the restaurant. However, Dice kept looking back in the hope of catching a glimpse of something. Somebody.

Matches and Dice reached the back wall. There was an explosion. At the center of the room, a wave of bodies hit the ceiling. Dice put his hands over his ears as the shockwave reached them and brought him to his knees.

"A soundwave bomb," Matches said, as chunks of the ceiling fell to the ground.

Dice turned down his hearing aid, but it wasn't enough. A high-pitched ringing still rattled through his skull.

A voice reverberated through the room.

"I'm Captain Knowles!"

…

Dice's lips quivered. His fists clenched.

"No!" He said. "It's too much! It's all too much!"

He attempted to ram his head against the glass of his tube. Claw at it. Kick at it. Anything to escape. Though, the black ooze covering his body only tightened further, and his restraints held him back.

The voice clucked its tongue.

"BL-270... We don't push you because we feel you must suffer. Must be punished for some... Misdeed. Rather, it's because you're a prime specimen. One of the best in our facility. We push you to push us."

Dice shook his head.

"No.... Too much.... Too long."

"But, there's so much more that we have to do. that we have to learn from you. I'm proud of you. We're all proud of you."

Dice grunted and continued to pull. The ooze coiled around his neck. He foamed at the mouth. Shocks of electricity fiddled on his spine. He pulled harder.

"Fine! Fine!" the voice said.

Dice's screen buzzed and morphed to lines of code.

"We didn't want to have to assign you with this task this early. But — you've been our most successful specimen in rounding the androids up. We could use somebody effective at this too..."

The code continued to stream by. It was infinitely complex. So many elements to think of and consider.

"This is the brain of an android," the voice said. "Reprogram it. Make it obedient. Remove any malicious elements. Don't disappoint me."

The voice faded out, leaving Dice to the tube and the code. Though, just as he began to alter it, a box flashed in the corner of his screen.

"Only the truth is effective. Join the collective."

Chapter 18:

Dice looked up. Knowles strode past the people who'd fallen to the ground. His face was an empty canvas. Stolid. Several soldiers were banked around him, aiming their weapons at all sides. The tips of their guns flickered blue, menacingly.

"You people are stowing a U.R.O fugitive," Knowles said. "I'm not sure who among you knows who I'm talking about... Maybe none of you do. But, the person we're looking for knows who they are. And, I'm going to search through every one of you until I find them."

Dice and Matches shrank behind a group of people that had formed along the wall. However, Dice didn't let himself take his eyes off Knowles.

A blast went off. One of the soldiers around Knowles fell to the ground. Several people charged towards Knowles. There was a click as the soldiers pulled their triggers, and a blue film warped the air. All but one of the people fell. The stray survivor made it to Knowles with a gun in hand.

"You're not going to take any of us," the man shouted defiantly.

He fired at Knowles. Knowles merely took a step back as his armor absorbed the blast. Knocking the gun out of the man's hand, he clasped him around the neck, and held him in the air.

"I'm a U.R.O military officer," Knowles said, raising the man as he spoke. "I'm not sure if that means anything to you people... But, I remember a time when that would warrant respect."

The man in Knowles' clutches choked.

"You officers have driven the U.R.O to near bankruptcy!" somebody shouted.

Knowles flicked his red eye in their direction, but kept his true eye focused on the man in his grasp.

"Please don't kill me," the man managed, with a wheeze.

He collapsed at Knowles' feet.

"I'm not going to kill you..." Knowles said, reverence seeping into his voice. "You managed to shoot down two of my officers. If anything, I'm interested in having you join our military."

Knowles spat at the ground and kicked the man in the stomach.

"Unfortunately, I need answers. I'm going to go through every single one of you, until somebody can tell me where the woman I'm looking for is."

"Nobody is going to sell out to you," the man on the floor said.

Knowles stepped over him and into the crowd.

"Has anybody here seen a woman with silver pupils, and dark hair?" Knowles asked, his voice booming.

Face flushed, Dice turned to looked at Matches. Matches had closed her eyes, and bowed her head toward the ground.

"Do something?" Dice hissed.

Matches scowled, and bit her lip.

"I can't," she whispered. "Something... Something is blocking my thoughts. My mind."

Dice's heart skipped a beat.

Knowles waltzed down the row of people, stopping every so often to place his knives for fingers on a person's chin.

“Have you seen her?”

Each time, people shook their head. Each time, Knowles' hand sharpened, and his eyes became more cunning.

Dice held his breath as Knowles passed the people in front of them. There was a slight quake to his every step, and his metal leg left small dents in the floor. Knowles stamped his foot into the wall once he'd reached the end of the line, and let out another shout.

"We're going to begin questioning now," Knowles said. "We don't intend to use violent force. I repeat: we will not use violent force. However: we will not rest until we have answers. Whoever can tell us where our missing person is will be greatly compensated."

Knowles rotated on his metal heel. The ground sparked. Knowles didn't stop until he was glowering over the person at the corner of the wall.

Wrench.

"Do you, by any chance, know where our missing person might be?" asked Knowles.

"I'm as damned clueless as you are..." said Wrench. "Now, get out of my face, or I'll break yours."

Venom coursed through the muscles in Knowles' neck, and into his jaw.

"I don't like your tone," Knowles said, his fingers inching dangerously close to Wrench's mask. "I deserve respect. I believe that you owe me an apology."

"Sorry..." Wrench said. "But, you can't fully respect a man who has half his face missing. You can only ever give half respect to half a man."

Knowles let out a harsh chuckle. The metal in his face squeaked as it moved with his mouth.

"That's rich, coming from a man who has half a face himself."

"You don't know that for sure though, do you?"

Dice couldn't see Wrench clearly from behind all of the heads of people. However, Dice detected a slight tremor in his voice. An uneasy hesitation at each word.

Knowles' hand reached out to yank Wrench's mask off of his face. Just as it did, a plume of plaster and dust flung Knowles away. There was a clang. The dust cleared. Knowles' was sprawled along the ground, his metal leg was lodged in the wall.

The room erupted in chaos. Those along the wall charged toward the line of military officers. Explosions and beams of blue flew from all sides. There was a tsunami of screams as people fell. A rock formed in Dice's stomach. Some of those screams were the last that people would make.

An orb of energy hurtled toward Dice's face. He was knocked to the ground just in time.

"Knowles' soldiers will get him back on his feet soon. We need to move."

Wrench crawled past Dice. There was a deep gouge down the center of his mask. However, he was otherwise unharmed.

"Why are we headed for the main door? Isn't the exit still surrounded?" Dice asked, parrying in between legs and misfired plasma blasts.

"Well, we're not going to be able to escape through the window," Matches said, crawling next to Wrench.

Wrench shook his head.

"We're not going out the main exit," he said.

Dice ran through his memory of the restaurant. Where would they hide? Behind the bar? Under the tables? No matter what, Knowles would stay in the restaurant — Matches' tracker would remain in its place.

"What are we supposed to do, then?" Matches said. "Teleport? Last time I checked, we weren't billionaires."

Wrench kept crawling, even as they passed a stampede of people trying to escape through the exit. Dice tried to avert his eyes from piles of those who'd been shot down on their way out the door.

"There's a secret exit at the back of the restaurant," Wrench finally said. "Not sure how many people know about it, but our chances are better down there than they are anywhere else."

Dice looked back to the door. The mounds of people. Even if they had better chances, Dice had an aching feeling.

As they reached the bar, the chaos had thinned out. Wrench went behind the bar's cover, and Matches followed. Though, Dice kept behind. There was a shadow, just off in the distance. Knowles? Had he already caught up?

Wrench cleared his throat. "It should be right down—."

Dice's ears rung as he was knocked on his back. Blearily pulling himself up, he looked around . There were black saucers, ornamented with red lights, all around him. Sonic explosives. Dice struggled over the bar. A table crashed right where he'd been standing. As another round of shockwaves went off, Dice slid across the bar and onto the ground.

"Everybody will leave through the main exit, and only through the main exit!" a soldier bellowed. "If anybody resists, we have no other choice but to respond with violent force."

They couldn't afford to be caught. Dice wobbled to his feet. Where were Wrench and Matches?

"You have to let us through!"

Dice looked down a narrow pathway behind the bar, and into the back of the restaurant. Dice limped down it, keeping himself hunched over all the while to stay out of sight. The floor murmured. Chunks of wall and ceiling fell at his every step.

Upon reaching the back of the restaurant, he found Billard blocking the entrance to a tunnel in the ground. Several people were gathered around him, including Matches and Wrench.

"You can't just keep us from using the tunnel!" somebody shouted. "If we're sent back out there, we're going to die!"

This sparked a chain reaction of pleas and exclamations. Dice attempted to follow what was being said, but was overloaded.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Billard said, swinging his gun about. "This is my restaurant! My district! We play by my rules here! Nobody gets out through this back exit, except me! You guys have to take the main exit!"

People groped at Billard's face to push him away, but Billard merely shoved the butt of his gun into their chests.

"You're going to let your entire restaurant die and run off, without anybody even letting anybody know this exit exists?" Matches said, her fists clenched.

Billard sneered.

"As if you're any better. You're the one who created this whole mess, am I right? You brought them here? If I had more than half a brain, I would turn you in to those soldiers right now. But, I'm going to be nice."

Wrench let out a shout of his own.

"Hey! Just because this is all of her fault doesn't mean that we all have to suffer!"

"You're one to talk! If you hadn't provoked Captain Knowles, the fight wouldn't have broken out like it did!"

"You still ran away, without trying to help anybody! Like a coward!"

Billard smirked, backing further toward the tunnel in the floor.

"I guess we're two sides of the same coin, then," Billard said. "I'm sure you had the chance to tell everybody about this exit, just like I did. But, you didn't. You saved your friends. You saved yourself. But, beyond that? Nobody. In the end, we're both scum."

Dice thought that he heard Wrench growl from behind his mask. However, it passed just as quickly as he heard it.

"Never said I wasn't scum," said Wrench. "But, the difference between us is that you abandoned your entire restaurant."

Wrench paused to let out a sigh.

"Look, I didn't want to have to do this..."

Wrench raised his gun.

"… But, there's only so long that I can look at somebody who's decided to run away from all of his problems."

Billard went to aim his own gun but fumbled it out of his hand. He cowered and side-stepped away from the hole.

"Don't shoot me," he said. "I'm just like any of you."

Wrench grunted as he pushed Billard to the side. He crouched down at the edge of the hole.

"You never abandon your people!" Wrench said, as he entered the hole. "Never!"

He gestured toward the group, and they lined up to enter the hole. Dice stood motionless. He'd seen Wrench angry, but never like this. It'd been entirely spontaneous.

Dice stared down the tunnel. He had to follow the group at some point. Though, the cacophony of screams and gunshots echoing from the restaurant kept him rooted in his spot. They were almost hypnotizing.

As Billard struggled up to his feet, Wrench pulled himself back out of the tunnel and aimed his gun at Billard's feet. A blast missed them by only a few centimeters.

"Get out of my sight!" Wrench said. "I don't want to see your face ever again!"

Wrench turned to Dice.

"Come on," he said, urgently. "The U.R.O don't play around. Move it, or you're dead meat."

Dice slid down into the hole. However, his thoughts stayed amidst the kitchen, listening to the mayhem. The melody.

Landing, Dice felt the ground gurgle beneath his feet. The lights lining the tunnel ceiling coughed and sputtered. The walls of the tunnel were in hives, covered with blotches of moss and mold. Dice's hands ran along the soft brick as he made his way after the group. Maybe he should've gone faster. Aside from Matches and Wrench, everybody was several meters away from him. Though, Dice was comfortable as he was. The slushy ground was easy on his left leg and helped him keep him oriented from after the sonic blasts.

Matches and Wrench seemed to share his sentiments. There was no urgency in their steps. Their heartrates and breaths were steady. Matches had an easy expression on her face, and Wrench's eyes roved off in the distance.

"Would it have killed anybody to hire a cleaning bot for this place?" Matches asked, breaking the silence. She wiped the muck off her hands and onto the pants of her bodysuit.

"At least we're in less of a mess than the bloodbath going on up there," Wrench said.

"I'm not so sure. A bloodbath is still technically a bath."

Wrench stopped walking to give Matches a glare.

"Do you have any estimates as to how long our walk will be?" Dice asked.

"I'm not a GPS," Wrench said. "I've never been down this way before. I only know about it."

Dice dug his fingers deeper into the moss. Their hourglass was emptying, and there was no telling how much sand was left.

The walls of the tunnel thrashed against Dice's fingers, as if out of agitation. Rocks leaped from the ceiling. A piece hit Dice on the head. He winced. It hadn't been soft, like the rock covering the wall.

Why had it fallen?

"It's... funny to think about now," Wrench said, "But, this pathway was created back in the Gordon District's heyday, when people were still worried about being apprehended for distributed illegal stimulants... From the look of this place now, though? I doubt that anybody could even be apprehended for murder."

Wrench kicked at a rock on the ground. However, a crack as the rock ricocheted off the wall wasn't enough to disguise what sounded like a sniffle.

"I guess that this tunnel has finally gotten to serve its purpose, after all," Wrench said. "And, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"I wouldn't exactly call that 'funny'," said Matches.

"I wouldn't exactly call you funny either, Matches."

Matches smirked. Dice was about to smile himself but stopped to dodge another chunk of rock that falling from the ceiling. Dice looked over his shoulder. Larger chunks of ceiling were collapsing behind them. He tumbled forward.

"The whole structure is unstable," Dice said.

His eyes locked on the group of people ahead of them. They'd already broken into sprints of their own. He wouldn't be able to catch up with them.

"It's not the 'structure'," said Wrench, voice trembling as he spoke. "I've never seen a tunnel collapse like this... The U.R.O have found our position. I don't know what they're using to do this, but they're making the whole tunnel collapse."

Dice's muscles were shaky. The warmth drained from his face.

The stretch of tunnel behind them calmed to a stop. However, it was soon replaced by quaking from the stretch of tunnel ahead of them.

Their group disappeared down a bend in the tunnel. Dice tried picking up his feet. It was no use. They were on their own.

The ceiling groaned and buckled. Dice kept going. Maybe the ceiling wouldn't break. Maybe they could make it through. Maybe he'd be lucky.

As Wrench shouted for Dice to stop, rocks fell from overhead, and the ground slid underfoot. Dice rolled into the sludge. A stench wrung at his gut, overpowering him. His bodysuit was caked with filth and drenched in water. There was only one way things could possibly get any worse.

The ceiling gave away. Rubble showered down, leaving Dice blinded. He was hit by a wave of heat, and a deafening roar filled his ears. He turned down his aid, but the sound still coursed through his bones. He coughed and tried waving the dust away. However, there was a deep shadow everywhere he looked.

Dice looked up. The thrusters of a jet lapped at the air above his head. The jet glowered at him, somehow looking twice as big as the shadow it cast onto the tunnel. Dice dove out of the way, and back to the cover of his friends.

The jet's wings tore into the walls as it landed, and the roar of its thrusters steadily quieted. Once it was only a few meters above ground, the thrusters faded away, and the plane's wings folded up. Dice covered his ears, expecting a harsh thump. However, wheels folded from the bottom of the plane, allowing a soft landing.

Wrench activated his gun and Matches ripped an electric rod from Wrench's pack. Dice scanned for a weapon of his own.

He raised his fists and took a few steps behind Wrench and Matches.

"One would think you would've gotten tired of running by now..."

It was Knowles. His voice echoed from all sides, taunting. Prodding. Dice felt the itch to turn around but managed to keep his eyes on the jet.

The jet let out a whoosh of air as a platform descended. Several soldiers stepped out, followed by Knowles.

"Quite the performance you three put on up there," Knowles said, brandishing his new leg. It was cruder than the previous leg, with less stability and points of articulation. Though, Knowles seemed proud as ever.

"I advise you put your weapons down," Knowles said, with a pitying frown. "There's no point in resisting."

"There are three of us, and five of you," Wrench said, still coughing through the remaining cloud of dust. "I like those odds."

"When I said that there was no point in resisting, I wasn't referring to us..." Knowles said.

His eyes motioned upward, and a turret folded from the jet's front. It instantly locked on all three of them.

"Why in god's name do you have a Gideon Ray in a public city?" Wrench asked, incredulously.

"It's set with low power," Knowles said. "Besides... I don't intend to use it."

"I might make you," Wrench said.

"It'll cut through you like a hot knife cuts through butter."

Wrench didn't flinch.

"The stubbornness of some of you people astounds me," Knowles said. "I used to tell myself that stubbornness was a quality that could only be found in a good soldier... But, I'm starting to think that it's a trait found in good people, in general."

Wrench took a few steps forward, holding the trigger of his gun. Its barrel glared from a building charge of energy. Wrench still didn't release his finger, letting the charge grow.

"Disgusting..." Knowles said, his voice cracking as he spoke. He stared at the gun. "Do you know how many people have died today? Do you know the hysteria you created? Your persistence is honorable, but I only have so much patience for it."

Wrench lowered his gun and took a step back. Knowles and his soldiers stepped forward. Electricity ebbed from tubes in the soldiers' armors and into their gloves. Their guns lit up as they aimed at each of them. One of the soldiers walked up to Dice and placed his gun on his chest. Dice's breathing went unsteady as the gun's heat penetrated his bodysuit and singed his skin.

"Let's not forget who killed those people..." Wrench said, as two soldiers yanked his hands behind his back, and forced him to the ground.

"Let's not forget, indeed," said Knowles. "You incited the usage of lethal force amongst the crowd. Fifteen civilians are dead. Four soldiers are dead. Perhaps it was doled out, in part, by my hand. But, it was forced out by you. You can try to pin this all on me... But, I believe this tragedy should weigh equally on each of our consciences."

"I don't follow."

"You don't follow much of anything. Non-conformity is a vice of yours, isn't it?"

Knowles bent over to lift Wrench's head. He dangled one of his knife-tipped fingers in front of Wrench's mask.

"You're asked for this," Knowles said.

Matches jabbed the soldiers holding her in place with her elbow.

"As much as I've dreamed of riding in my own private jet, I think I'd prefer to miss this flight," Matches said.

She dashed toward Knowles. Knowles let go of Wrench's head, whipped out a pistol, and shot at Matches. Matches toppled to the ground, and the soldier that she'd elbowed restrained her again.

"Wait your turn," said Knowles. "I'll deal with you in a bit."

Knowles leaned in close to Wrench. Their heads practically touched. Knowles' fingers crawled up Wrench's mask. Dice felt the urge to run toward Knowles himself. However, the hot gun on his chest and the hot pain in his leg held him back. In desperation, he checked the soldier's eye to see if he was paying attention. He was. His eyes were unfeeling and cold. There was nothing behind the soldier's eyes, save whatever Knowles had put there.

Dice was trapped to only spectate.

"What are you hiding under that mask of yours?" Knowles asked in a whisper that was barely audible. "Scars? Burns? Deformity?"

"I'm just real shy," said Wrench.

Knowles let out a chuckle.

"It's almost fate, isn't it?" Knowles said. "Two men, from entirely different worlds... United by their wish to hide their faces from the world."

"Never been one to subscribe to fate..."

Wrench let out an uncomfortable grunt and tried to inch away. However, Knowles had him tight in his clutches.

"You're not going anywhere," Knowles said. "I suppose that it's finally time for me to end the suspense and mystery and unveil who you really are under there."

"If you tear my mask off, I'm going to—."

Knowles reeled back his metal fist and then punched Wrench in the face before he could finish. Wrench went quiet. Grasping around the edges of Wrench's head, Knowles began to peel back the layer of Wrench's metal mask. Wrench's silence broke, as he let out a wail of pain.

"Help! God! Somebody, help me!"

Wrench went on like this. Knowles' face creased into a grimace, but he didn’t stop until the mask peeled completely off. Once it had, Wrench's screams faded to pathetic whimpers.

"I'm sorry," Knowles said. He tried to sound facetious, but there was a flash of sympathy in his voice. "I didn't realize that the mask had been partially grafted to your face."

"You do now," Wrench said, weakly.

A strain rested on Knowles' eyes as he studied Wrench's face. Once he'd looked it over several times, he let himself look away.

"How'd it happen?" Knowles said.

Wrench spat up at Knowles, narrowly missing.

"I imagine that you must've seen a lot to get like that," Knowles continued. "It's a shame that you chose the side that you have..."

Knowles stepped away and walked toward Matches. Wrench curled into a ball, putting his head in his hands. Was he sobbing?

"You had a chance to receive a massive award, you know," Knowles said, glancing over his shoulder. "All you had to do was sell out your friends to me. It pains me to say it, but I might've even been willing to put you on my task force. Unfortunately, somebody with more brains than you snatched up that golden opportunity..."

Billard. He must've sold them out.

Dice struggled to keep the heat rising to his face at bay.

Knowles stood over Matches, and a smile stretched across his face. The heat in Dice's face was married with a cold sweat. Knowles pulled the pistol out of his holster and aimed it at Matches' head. Though, not before taking a moment to shoot Dice a fierce look.

"You wouldn't believe how much red-tape I had to cut through to be granted permission to hound you down," Knowles said, his red eye glaring into Matches' eyes. "But, I can assure you: even amidst all those distractions, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. I've been looking forward to our reunion."

"Aww... It's nice to know that I have admirers," said Matches. Her head stayed bowed.

"You're just as... Insufferable as when I first met you... Always giving me a hard time in front of your comrades. You've traveled thousands of miles since then — but, you haven't gotten all that far, have you?"

Knowles laughed, softly.

"Did you know we thought that you were dead, up until the past day? Your stolen drone — our pilots reported it as having crashed. The U.R.O was already talking about issuing medals to me and my crew."

"Oh, Knowles... You should've learned by now: you can't get rid of me that easily."

There was the slightest scrape as Knowles' finger toyed with his gun's trigger.

"Are you even going to show an ounce of remorse for anything you've done?" Knowles asked. "Hundreds of people should hang on your conscience. Today alone, you were responsible for the deaths of nineteen people. And, I don't even know how many people were injured..."

Matches shook her head.

"At this point, it's all just a game," said Matches. "You're going to imprison me again. I'm going to escape again. You're going to chase me down again. It's pointless, really. You're just on a wild goose chase."

"This time, I can assure you that you won't be able to escape," Knowles said.

An antenna sliced through the roof of their aircraft. A piercing red light throbbed at its tip.

"Good luck getting past that," said Knowles. "You might be able to use your abilities to affect one or two of us... But, not all of us. Not this time."

Matches winced as she pressed her hand to her forehead, then shrugged.

"You win?" she said.

A smirk formed in the corner of Knowles' mouth. "You don’t know how long I've been waiting to hear those words."

Turning to his other soldiers, Knowles made a sweeping gesture with his arm. His soldiers gripped Matches by the arms and dragged her toward the platform. Then Wrench.

Dice finally felt his own captor grip him around his arms and drag him toward the aircraft. Dice flailed his limbs, only to prompt the soldier to shove his gun in Dice's chest.

"I really wouldn't test your chances if I were you," the soldier said.

Dice's left leg seared with pain as it was hauled through the mud. Dice closed his eyes.

Chapter 19:

"Check his pockets. His mouth. His pores. We can't leave a single stone unturned."

Dice's body throttled as a scanner ran over it. Once it had ran over every inch, the scanner gave a chipper beep and was lifted away. Dice's teeth were left chattering. A tingling sensation buzzed at his hands and feet.

"Good. Now, bind him up."

Dice was propped up on his knees as a brace was fastened around his neck. A foot dug into his back as a pair of cuffs locked on his wrists.

"Sorry," said Knowles, leaning into Dice's ear. "I was planning on giving you tightening cuffs — the boys like to call them, 'the cuffs of life' — but, I had to save them for somebody else..."

Dice was pulled up to his feet.

"Alright, keep it moving prisoner," a soldier barked.

Dice's eyes probed around as he was shunted forward. The interior of the aircraft was a glossy silver, to the point where Dice could see his miserable reflection from every angle. Sharp blue lights lined the interior's rounded corners. Holograms leapt from the floor, displaying striking camera feeds of districts, people, and the interiors of buildings. Dice passed a door, and a ladder. There must've been hidden rooms and wings to the craft.

He'd never seen anything like it.

Dice's eyes floundered as he was forced down into a stairwell, into the underside of the aircraft. His bodysuit clung to his clammy skin. The air was humid. Musty. Despite hunching, Dice's hair grazed the ceiling. He measured his steps, taking care not trip over the mess of pipes and wires feeding through the floor.

He'd never seen anything like it...

He desperately wanted to wipe the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Yet, his hands were locked behind him. He considered asking one of the soldiers for help, but they were too busy snickering behind him. One of them shoved him in the back.

"Speed up."

To Dice's left was a massive, pulsating engine. Its pumps moved so fast that their gears and rotors had turned to mere blurs. Though, somehow it managed to keep quiet. There were hundreds of minute mechanisms, interlocking in intricate clusters. Dice tried to follow a single gear, but only found himself lost among a dozen others.

The machine could've only been designed by a robot's quantum brain functions. However, how did it run? A nuclear engine? Hydrogen generators?

Dice remembered the Gideon Ray, and felt a punch to his gut. It could only have been powered by dark energy.

There was another punch. This time, palpable. A wheeze fled from Dice's lungs.

"Stop staring at the engine!"

Why was the engine so exposed? Any rational engineer would've kept it under the hull.

Dice cast a sidelong glance at the soldiers guarding the engine. His eyes narrowed. They didn't look quite like normal soldiers. There was an intense focus on their faces. Several of them even had goggles on, appearing to be writing in midair.

They must've been doctors, put in charge of monitoring the experimental engine. Dice shuddered. Was the engine really that volatile?

He reached a closet at the end of the engine chamber.

"Enjoy your new residence."

The soldier laughed, before opening the door and pushing Dice in. There was a whine as the door closed.

Dice's head collided with the ceiling. His neck strained as he held his head down. The engine chamber no longer seemed so claustrophobic. He crouched, hugging his knees close to his chest. His back moaned as it was mashed against the wall.

Dice squinted, eyes clutching the strands of light slinking between the cracks of the door. A hand clutched Dice around the shoulder.

"You know, the 'rat-holes' of the Gordon District are looking pretty good right now," Matches said.

"Please... Just shut up," said Wrench, with a hiss

"Does anybody have a light?" Matches asked.

Wrench sniffled. After an extended pause, there was a crack and a flicker. A faint glow came from the side of Wrench's leg.

"I have a light installed in the lining," Wrench said. "It's liquid-based, so it'll only get us a few hours... However, it would've been confiscated otherwise."

Dice used the meagre glow to study the room. The walls were a dull metal, lined with empty racks. It must've been meant as a storage facility for weapons. However, it made just as good of a makeshift prison.

Wrench kept his face covered with his hands, and his head toward the corner. Dice looked to his own corner.

"What do you think that they're going to do to us?" Dice asked.

"You two? Not sure," Matches said. "I'm willing to bargain that it'll have something to do with lifetime imprisonment, or other..."

Watching Matches' face, Dice found a lack of concern. He raised an eyebrow.

"And you?" Dice asked.

"Chances are, I'll either be killed, or put in maximum security," said Matches.

"You seem pretty accepting of that fact."

"It's not a fact... It's chance. And, I'm not playing chance this time — I'm going to play chess. Make my own luck. Your advice."

"You never took my advice before."

"Well, I guess this is where that changes. Let's just say that there's a good chance we're being transported to Omicron," said Matches. "It's a free ride to exactly the place we need to go. I don't know about you, but I'm taking that as a golden opportunity."

Wrench grunted. Matches scowled and looked over.

"And what were you going to say?" said Matches.

"Nothing," Wrench said.

"You definitely were thinking something."

"There's just no way that we're getting out of here..." said Wrench. Each word came slowly, as if to ensure a dourness could be laced in each one. "These people have weapons that are unlike anything that I've seen..."

"I've seen worse weapons. And, I've escaped them."

Wrench shook his head.

"Good for you. As for me? I know that I'm doomed to lose. Besides: I feel I've far exceeded my call of duty."

Matches sputtered.

"That — that's utterly defeatist. Come on Dice, back me up on this."

Dice shifted in his spot, pressing his back harder against the wall.

"Actually, Wrench has a point."

"Thank you!"

Matches' eyes bored through Dice's head. Dice cleared his throat.

"It's just... Even if their weapons aren't especially powerful," Dice said, "it won't matter. The most powerful weapons they possess aren't the guns that they hold to the head. Rather, their weapons are in the head — psychological. Knowles has an intimate knowledge of how to strip a person down to their base elements."

Matches gaped at him for a moment. Then, becoming self-aware of herself, she sat up straighter and put on a fake smile.

"They've never affected me," Matches said, grinning stiffly. "You just need to know how to overcome them."

"That's easy coming from somebody who can get inside somebody's head anytime they want!" said Wrench, with a growl.

"You just can't let go of that, can you? I've been being hounded down to be killed for years because of my 'great' ability. You think I have it so easy, or something?"

Dice buried his head between his knees.

"Yes!" said Wrench. "You didn't have to see your home in complete disrepair. You didn't have to see all of the hate... The despair... All created by these soldiers. By you."

Wrench coughed, before continuing.

"And... And nobody is supposed to remove my mask! It was a scar. A bad memory. I just wanted to have to forget... But, no. I had to come and help protect your sorry asses. I had to make sure that you were safe, and that my job was done."

"Weren't we paying you a sufficient amount?" Dice asked.

"Radials aren't everything," Wrench said.

Dice tried quelling the heat rising to his face.

"Besides," Wrench said, "you're a fugitive. You and I both know that you weren't going to pay me anything."

The heat in Dice's face deepened.

"Look, we can still make this right," said Matches, hastily. "You can't give up on the idea of escaping. It's our one shot. We can catch up with the group in the capital, and finally get out of this place. But, to do that we need to be all in."

Wrench shook his head.

"You don't understand," he said. "I don't want to be a fugitive. I don't want to have to fight. I just want this all to be over..."

"You're giving up?"

Wrench pulled his head from his hands and looked at Matches. Dice felt a rush of terror.

Wrench's face was mapped in scars and burns. A ring wrapped around his face, left behind by the torn mask. Dice tried to look away but couldn't. Wrench's eyes held him captive.

"Look at me," Wrench said, in a rasp. "Don't you think I've finally earned the choice to 'give up'?"

Silence overtook them.

"They're listening to us," Wrench said. "I'm sure of it. I wouldn't be surprised if there are hidden cameras. Everything we say is going to be taken into account, and used against us..."

Dice knew he should've been listening. Though, he could only pay attention to Wrench's face. He'd known there must've been some tragedy hidden under Wrench's metal plate. Though, he'd never thought deeply enough about it. Now, it was staring him in the face.

"Wrench..." Dice said. "What happened to you?"

Wrench looked away.

"My name isn't Wrench," he said, scoffing.

"What happened?" Matches asked, more pressingly.

"Just stop it," said Wrench. "I don't see either of you giving out your secrets."

Dice tried counting the racks along the wall. He finally gave up when the darkness bled several of them together.

"I never knew that you'd been through so much," Dice said.

Wrench snorted.

"We all hide our own little worlds of pain behind masks," he said. "Some of us are just better at it than others."

A shiver ran down Dice's spine.

He listened to the dark energy engine as it snarled and pulled them into the air. The room trembled, shaking Dice to the bone. It was just G-forces, and high atmospheric pressure. Nothing more. Maybe one of the pilots had even worsened the effects of the plane's liftoff to try instilling fear.

There was no need to dwell on it. Yet, he did. Dice's mind backtracked, considering everything he'd studied about the plane. Everything that could go wrong. Spell their deaths.

He arrived at the engine. It was endlessly complex. The slightest malfunction in the sum of its parts could've spelled uncertain catastrophe. What if it numerous functions of the engine failed? What if the entire system imploded?

He shuddered. Nobody could be so stupid as to let that happen. Could they?

His eyes leafed back through their room. He needed to divorce himself from the anxiety and think.

He stared at the walls. He rapped his knuckles along one. They were made of a thick titanium. Too tough for him to scalp at with a cheap laser. However, the corners of the walls were welded together. Likely a bit more unstable. It was promising.

If only he'd actually smuggled a cheap laser...

His eyes gravitated to the door. He couldn't pry it open, as it interlocked with the rest of the wall seamlessly. However, there were no signs of vaulted locks on it. Dice's spirits lifted, only to deflate. The door must've been sealed shut by some sort of a high-intensity magnet lock. There was no getting it open without immense force. However, there might've been a chance at bypassing it...

"When do you think that we'll get fed?" Dice said, rubbing his stomach.

"Our flight should only take us a few hours, if they're taking us to the capital like Matches said," said Wrench. "So, we'll just need to starve until then."

"At least it's better than economy class on a normal plane," said Matches.

Dice tilted his head up at the ceiling. He thought that he'd glimpsed a glass dome rotating about. A lamp? The sparse light from Wrench's pants made it impossible to tell.

"Look at that," Dice said. "We've had a light all this time, and they didn't even bother turning it on for us."

Wrench gave a scornful snort and looked up. His eyes squinted in confusion.

"That can't possibly be a light..." Wrench said. "Look at it. It's... Rotating. It must be a—."

He bit his tongue before he finished, and looked down.

"That's what I thought," Dice said, with a whisper.

He nudged Matches, and motioned at the camera in the ceiling with his eyes. Matches scrunched her eyebrows and construed her face into a frown.

"Didn't we already establish that they had cameras on us?" Matches asked.

"But, now we know its location," Dice said, in a rapid fire. "Quick: what type of handcuffs do you have on?"

Matches chuckled.

"Tightening cuffs," he said. "Knowles and his troops called them 'the cuffs of life', just like that one guy from the MDPD..."

"Deputy Haynam," Dice said, his mouth going dry for a moment.

"Yeah. Anyway, I'd personally call them 'the cuffs of death'... But, I guess that's just me. Why does it matter though?"

"They're knife tipped, right?"

Matches' eyes glimmered.

"I like how you think," she said.

Matches stood up, and dragged the edge of her cuffs along the ceiling until she reached the dome camera. Then, she began knocking at it with the sharp edge of her handcuffs.

"It would be nice if they put cushions inside of these things..." Matches said, with a groan.

"Are the cuffs tightening?" Dice asked.

"What do you think, genius?"

Matches gave another groan. There were crunches and murmurs as the hinges in the cuffs pulled further in. However, Matches kept banging at the camera until there was a shatter, followed by an explosion. Dice covered his head with his hands as bits of glass poured on him.

"It's down," Matches said.

"Yeah, I could see that," said Wrench.

"Well, did you see this?"

Matches waved her hands in front of her face.

"The cuffs broke off from the explosion."

She lifted the two knife-tipped cuffs from the ground.

"It'd be nice if we could get in on some of that action..." Said Wrench.

"That's the plan."

Matches drove the sharp tips into Dice and Wrench's cuffs, until they were each severed free.

"So, what now?" Matches asked.

"We wait until they notice that their camera is down," said Dice, in a hushed tone. "They're going to need to check on us at some point. And, when they do? We fight our way out."

Wrench shook his head.

"Never going to happen," he said.

"We have to have hope in something, even if it's wholly irrational," said Dice. "Sometimes, we need to take risks. Maybe it doesn't make sense, and maybe it won't work... But, if we're going to die, it might as well be on our terms instead of theirs."

Wrench shook his head.

"Hope?" he spat. "It's time to realize that we're a bit beyond that."

Dice's jaw clenched. He couldn't bridle his emotions. He let out a shout.

"Too bad!" Dice said, fury dripping from his voice. "I don't care if there's no chance! I don't care if it doesn't make sense! I don't even care if we're going to drop dead within seconds! What I care about is that we tried, even when there was no point in trying!"

Dice sat back and took a deep breath. He ran his hand through his hair. He needed to contain his pounding pulse. He had to cool down from the heat that had risen to his face.

"I'm sorry," Dice said, reassuming a clinical tone. "But... Maybe there's a chance. We can't afford to be cynical about it."

"I prefer the term, 'realistic'," said Wrench, "which is something that I mistakenly thought you also were. All it took was a little bit of pressure, and you broke... But then, what should I have expected? You haven't owned the world. You haven't had that world slip through the cracks of your fingers. Maybe if you had, you'd understand why I am the way that I am."

Dice clenched his fists. Back in the Monterey District, he was on his way to becoming a deputy. He could've been something. Yet, nobody cared. Nobody remembered.

Who was Wrench to say that he had a monopoly on loss?

"Alright," said Matches, slapping her knees. "The camera is off. And, as far as I can tell right now, we have all the time in the world right now. So, lay it on us. What's going on with you? What's your story?"

"You need to tell me yours first."

Matches rolled her eyes, and leaned back as far as the walls would let her.

"Not going to happen," she said. "I have an inkling that you're more willing to talk than either of us."

Wrench opened his mouth to retort, but then stopped himself. Dice was about to retort himself. Though, words escaped him.

He didn't have any secrets to tell. Did he?

"Come on," Matches said. "I'm in the mood for a story right now."

Wrench sighed.

"You want to know about me?" he asked. "The first thing to know is that I'm not proud of my past. I'm not a good person. I don't deserve to be here... Maybe that's why I left myself to isolation for years on end. Maybe that's why I accepted your suicide mission."

His voice turned to gravel, and his pupils shrunk. Dice wanted to say something. Anything. Though, the shriveled, scarred husk of a person in front of him almost seemed alien. Dice was trapped inside of himself, left to only watch and stare.

"The U.R.O has ravaged the Gordon District... Its energy production should have never been absorbed by them. However, back in the heyday of the Gordon District, the streets were practically made of money. It was a beacon of opportunity, and everybody who was anybody went there to make a name for themselves. I was only twenty at the time. I was arrogant. Thought myself smarter than I had any right to. Naturally, being arrogant, young, and ambitious, I decided that I wanted to make it on my own in the Gordon District. That is, 'on my own', with the exception of a friend. Another kid, just as young and stupid as I was... Lucas.

"Lucas and I had been friends for years. We'd grown up together in the Colt District — a smudge on the U.R.O's map — and he was family. When I told him about my plans for success in the Gordon District, he was skeptical... But, he pooled his money with me nonetheless. We traveled to the Gordon District with nothing but the bags on our backs, and the flimsy plan that I'd outlined in my mind.

"In retrospect, all odds were against us. The Gordon District was already turning to a hotbed of robots programmed to steal contracts, corporate corruption, and government interference. But, maybe I was a bit smarter than I give myself credit. Scratch that... Maybe Lucas was smarter than I ever gave him credit. He was quiet. Us both having been raised in a calculator cage, I always thought he didn't know much. He usually just followed my lead. Despite all this, he saved us from bankrupting ourselves out of radials many times..."

Wrench chuckled, and swept the hair out of his face.

"One time, we were offered a job where we'd essentially be turned into indentured servants for a robot manufacturer," he said. "We were desperate for radials at the time, so I nearly signed the papers. Thankfully, Lucas took a second read of our contract, and saved our skins.

"We weren't desperate forever though, thankfully. We found jobs maintaining solar farms. It was good work and paid well. So well, in fact, that we gained enough wealth to begin negotiating purchases of our own plots of land. Bits of property with our name on it began to pepper the Gordon District. We covered our land with the best solar panels on the market and were met with immense success. I'd distribute the energy we obtained to the Gordon District's government, and we were given thousands of radials in return. Lucas hired out people to maintain the plant and worked on expanding. We were only cogs in a much wider machine, but we had a good business. A smart business. But, I was a stupid businessman... I needed more money. More importantly, I wanted to be the one to take credit for it — not Lucas. It was a petty rivalry, existing only in my own head, but it was a rivalry nonetheless.

"I eventually heard about 'underground' opportunities. At the time, the underground world in the Gordon District was only just beginning to seed corruption. Everybody knew that it was there, but nobody knew it was as bad as it was. The underground world, while dirty, was still given a certain amount of respect by the overall public. So, I went underground... I searched for odd jobs. At first, I was just getting shady trade deals for my solar energy, for slightly better prices than the U.R.O offered. Not much changed for our business, but it was at least something. Though, everything comes at a price...

"I wasn't too trusting toward the people who were trading with me. They always had dodgy eyes... Fickle personalities... And, they always had off-putting perspectives. However, I didn't take it as a sign like I should've. I started meeting people deeper underground and getting bigger jobs. It went pretty smoothly at first, all things considered. There were a few close calls, but nothing worth retelling. Yet, nothing good lasts forever. It was eventually discovered by my trade partners that my solar farm was just a small operation, ran by myself and Lucas. That was a big mistake.

"Many of the people I was selling to lowered what they were willing to pay me. Some of them even tried blackmailing me to get free energy. I was also offered new 'opportunities' where, rather than providing energy, I would be helping with new missions. I rejected most of the offers the very moment that I saw that I'd have to take actual risks. However, our funds continued to slip through our fingers. I and Lucas had to consider the prospect of returning to the government for sales — which was no longer as much of an option, due to the expanding size of our business, and decreasing rates from the U.R.O. We were going to need to lay people off, and sell some of our land.

"It was at this point that I took a good look in the mirror. I wasn't as sly and clever as I thought I was. The Gordon District was finally beating me. I knew deep down that my options were slimming, and that I'd need to make money some other way.

"Lucas cautioned me against going to crime rings for jobs, but we'd already had to fire several good people. He showed me the numbers and told me that we could still recover from our losses, but I didn't listen. I suppose that I never listened...

"I ended up talking to one of the smaller operations underground. All I had to do was help take down a few people who were perceived as... 'troublesome'. Sketchy as the job was, it sounded like they'd pay legitimate radials, so I agreed. I wasn't thinking with my head though. I was just staring at the numbers.

"I feared going at it alone, so I convinced Lucas to help me with the job. Told him it was clean. He accepted. And, we went. But, I wish that he hadn't listened to me, and let me go on my own... We ended up being taken to a corner of the Gordon District with a group of hired guns. It took me a minute, but I eventually figured out that the place we'd been sent to was a factory, and that the 'people' who I'd been paid to kill were just robots. Well... They weren't 'just robots'. They tore through most of us, leaving many for dead. One of the more desperate people of our crew ended up setting off a bomb of theirs. And, I barely made it out alive.

"Lucas didn't make it out alive though."

Wrench grunted, and shifted in his spot. Dice took in a deep breath.

"It's not entirely fair," Wrench said. "I've gotten to live a life. A hollow life, yes... But, goddamn it, life is life! I get to have one, and Lucas doesn't. He forever remains a man in his late twenties... And, I forever remain the man who killed him."

"It wasn't your fault," said Matches. "You can't blame yourself for every death that was indirectly caused by you."

Wrench shook his head, and then slammed a fist into the wall.

"It was my fault though," he said. "All my fault... I — I was the one who set off the explosion. And... I never tried saving Lucas. The moment that I threw my grenade, I ran away, like a coward. I could've saved him. I could've stopped it. But, I didn't."

"There are plenty of things that all of us could've stopped, at one point or another," said Matches. "Doesn't mean that we should let ourselves get weepy about it. No matter what you might tell yourself, it's not all your fault."

Dice closed his eyes as he was taken back to a dark, claustrophobic place... Hot. Full of static. Full of restraints.

He tried shaking it away, but only saw somebody staring at him through the darkness. Somebody blurry. Harsh. With cold, glazed over eyes. Dice shuddered and held his breath.

"Matches is right," Dice said, swallowing his breath. "Lucas is long gone. You're allowed to let yourself move on."

Matches shot Dice a sidelong glance.

"First time that I've ever heard you agree with anything I've said," said Matches.

"Don't get accustomed to it," Dice said, with a shrug.

The world felt heavy. It swept over Dice in waves, making him lapse in and out of a fog. He just needed to leave this place. Go somewhere else. He needed to go where there was no more noise. No more fear. Just peace. Peace, and sleep.

"You know, I didn't actually get these scars from fighting in the robot explosion," Wrench said, with a haggard chuckle. "I got them far later. After Lucas's death, I couldn't bring myself to keep living in the Gordon District... Crime was only getting worse, and my handle on things was slipping away. I moved into the Pit, due to the supposed opportunity that was supposed to be there. There was definitely something there.

"I ended up getting in a fight with one of the locals when I arrived. He beat me bloody, and left me trapped under the acid rain. I narrowly escaped, but not without sustaining one too many injuries."

Wrench shook his head.

"It was so hard living there all on my own," he said. "You know, I've been wondering why I ended up helping you two... At first, I convinced myself that I did it for the radials. But, now I know that I don't care about that."

He groaned, and leaned his head back toward the ceiling.

"I think that, when I saw you two, I saw a second chance. As stupid as it sounds, I saw a little bit of Lucas in both of you. I can only hope that I don't fail you like I did him."

Matches smiled at Wrench, and then leaned her own head back.

"I don't know what's going to happen," said Matches. "Maybe we'll get shot to bits. Maybe this is all hopeless... But, I'd just like to let you know this: you got us this far. I don't know where we'd be without you."

"An ash heap somewhere in the Pit, probably," said Dice.

"Thank you for that... Um... Acute observation."

"Astute."

"Thanks for the hot tip. Now, as I was saying..."

Matches turned back to Wrench.

"Look. Whatever happens, just know that you did your best."

Wrench gave a firm nod.

"My best isn't all that much," he said. "But, I'm glad that it was enough for you two."

"I'm glad that the opinions of two criminals mattered so much to you," said Matches. "Actually, maybe that's more sad, now that I think about it..."

That was more like it.

"And you were blaming me for ruining the moment," said Dice.

"It was getting too sappy," said Matches. She looked from Wrench to Dice, and then back again. "So, now what? Do we just sit here and wait for them to take the bait? Or...?"

Dice's chest sunk. His face went grim. They were still trapped in a prison. Stuck sitting, waiting for somebody to free them.

Wrench cleared his throat.

"One last thing to get off my chest," he said. "My name isn't actually Wrench."

"Yeah, I think we already figured that out," said Matches.

"My real name? It's Toby."

"I'm still calling you Wrench. But, if we're trying to go for big reveals, my name isn't really 'Matches'."

Wrench snorted.

"Well I think we already figured that out too... Mind telling us your real name?"

"Not yet..."

Dice rubbed the back of his neck.

"If it's any consolation, my name is actually Dice."

…

"BL-270. Wake up. No sleeping on the job."

Dice pulled his head from his chest and stared through his computer screen. At the tick marks on his glass wall. Nineteen ticks.

The clock was ticking. Time was almost up.

He smiled.

"BL-270, what are you doing in there? You've received explicit instruction to do this job — you're in no position to be neglecting it."

"Thirty androids," Dice said. "Thirty androids have been reprogrammed. Rehabilitated. I just want... I just want a rest."

"Bl-270! You need to complete your assignment."

Dice's smirk deepened.

"As you wish."

He closed out his lines of code, submitting it for processing.

"It's about time," the voice said. "You've taken way too long on this one — we're not even going to have time to review it. It's fine though... It should be fine."

Dice laughed.

"Oh, it should."

"What do you me—?"

Dice's computer screen flickered out. There was a beep as the top of his tube opened out and tipped forward. Dice slid out, collapsing onto a platform.

It'd worked. The android he'd reprogramed had utterly hijacked the facility.

Dice tore away at the ooze covering his face. His skin could finally breathe. He squinted and looked around — his platform hung over a dark chasm. Hanging above were dozens of rows of other identical tubes and platforms, all lit by dim green lights.

Cautiously measuring his every step, Dice made his way down the platform. The wrong move could send him tumbling over the side, into and endless abyss. Dice's head buzzed.

A buzz went off. Flaring white lights. A door at the end of the platform opened up. Dice squinted his eyes and covered his face from the blinding glare.

"BL-270... I expected so much more of you. You betrayed me."

A shadow stepped out from the white light, steadily coming closer. Venom dripped from each step.

"You betrayed the collective."

Sweat poured down Dice's face. He could almost make out the face — make out the fury. The rage. Yet, it was too foggy. His vision needed to clear. He needed... He needed...

"Dice! Dice!"

It was... Matches?

Chapter 20:

"Dice!"

Dice grunted and kicked into the wall. His heart was pounding. His head spun.

"What's going on!?" he moaned.

He looked up, using the remaining shreds of Wrench's light. Matches was standing over him, her fingers pressed to his forehead.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Your dreams spiraled had out of control. You were having a nightmare," Matches said. "I was — I was just trying to stop them for you."

His head bobbed, and his thoughts fogged. He could feel a fire rising in his chest. Though, he couldn't lose control. He tried listening to the slight putter of the engine.

"You... Were in my head?" Dice asked, his face twisting.

Matches sat back in her spot and ran her hand through her hair.

"Well, when you put it like that, it doesn't sound so good... I was just trying to help you. I've never seen your dreams get so bad."

Dice put his head in his hands and shook his head.

"Have you been in my head before?" he asked.

"I try to avoid going into people's dreams as much as I can."

"You didn't answer my question. Have you ever been in my head before? Yes, or no?"

Matches sighed.

"Yes, but—."

"— but nothing! You're not supposed to be in my head! My thoughts — my dreams — those are mine to deal with, and mine alone."

It all made too much sense. His nightmares had been getting worse ever since he'd been working with Matches. She must've been altering them — goading him on.

"How much have you been changing in my dreams?" Dice asked, hoarsely.

"Not much," she said. "Just, whenever you seem to be having nightmares, I'll try pushing them away. Usually it has the reverse effect, but I always figure it's worth a shot..."

"I can't believe this!" Dice shouted. "You made me a promise, and you broke it. Completely. You were supposed to be on night-watch, not messing with my mind!"

Matches hung her head.

"Look, I'm sorry. It's just, your nightmares weren't — but, it was still wrong. It was wrong. I won't do it again. We can just forget this ever happened. You can go back to sleep — you need it — and I can keep watch until It's your turn."

Dice pursed his lips and shook his head. All this time he'd been trusting Matches — yet, she'd been just as much a threat as anything else he'd faced.

"I really don't feel like going back to sleep," Dice mumbled. "It can just be my turn for night watch now. I — I have a lot to think about anyway."

Matches shrugged.

"Alright then."

She laid down and closed her eyes. Dice counted down the minutes, waiting for her to finally fell into a state of steady breathing and low heartbeat.

Ten minutes.

Dice turned up his hearing aid to its maximum setting. Nothing. He pressed his ear against the door. Just the methodical ticks of the plane, and his own soft breath. Yet, he continued to listen. There was a hint of something, just off in the distance. The ghost of a harsh voice, echoing off walls.

He pulled his ear away. It was just a hallucination. Nothing more. Matches had been right. He needed sleep. His mental stability was steadily slipping from his fingers.

Yet, he also needed to stay awake. He slapped himself in the face. He thought back to the engine. The slightest malfunction would turn its ticks to an explosion. Eyes still sagging, he thought about Knowles' troops. Just beyond his scope of hearing, they were pacing, and waiting. Waiting for him to bend, and snap. Dice's pulse heightened, and his muscles tightened. He couldn't afford to show a sign of weakness.

However, was a short nap really weakness?

Dice steadily slid down the wall, until he was curled back on his side. He closed his eyes. It was just an extended blink, really. He could reopen his eyes at any moment. Not right at that moment, though. They stung, were heavy, and were probably bloodshot from the darkness.

Dice didn't move a muscle when the engine thumped, jerking his body forward. Nor when there was a bang outside the door. Something deep within his mind writhed about in an attempt to wake him up, but only managed to make his eyes twitch. Dice was paralyzed. Trapped under heaping layers of dreams.

There was a thunderous slam. Yet, Dice still struggled to pull himself out of his haze.

He was trapped. Held captive by slimy bonds, and claustrophobic walls. There was no light. No sound. He was steeped in a vacuum. His breath steadily slipped away from him as his screams went unheard.

It wasn't real. It was all Matches. He just needed to fight it.

Fight it.

A high-pitched frequency emitted from the door as the magnetized lock unlatched. Dice shot up from his spot on the floor, drenched in sweat.

"Wake up, now," Dice hissed, shaking Wrench and Matches. "Wake up! We don't have any time!"

Rolling over, Wrench punched at the empty air. His eyes darted around the room in a frenzy.

"What's going on?!" he shouted.

Dice put his finger over his lips.

"Be quiet," he said. "And, get up. The door is about to open."

Heart hammering, he looked over his shoulder. The door remained in its place. Dice clenched his fists and stalked toward it.

"Waking us up already?" Matches said. "It's still dark out."

Pressing himself against the wall adjacent to the entrance, Dice positioned and repositioned his legs into a fighting stance.

"Forget the stance — you just need to get your fists up," Wrench said, with a yawn.

"And you just need to get up," Dice said.

"Sorry if we're not enthused about waking up to at the crack of dawn," Wrench said.

The door slid open. Dice jumped back, and then charged toward the soldiers. Dodging a blow to his stomach, Dice managed to kick one of them in the shin. A fist hurtled toward his jaw, knocking him to the ground.

As he lapsed in and out of a daze, Wrench dove toward the legs of a soldier that held a replacement for their camera. Matches became locked in a wrestle with another soldier, but not quickly enough. There was already the sound of more soldiers marching toward them.

As Dice struggled back up to his feet, he listened to the engine. Its sound had turned to a haggard cough.

He blinked. If they shot out the engine, maybe they could buy enough of a distraction to escape...

What was he thinking? That was stupid. Suicidal, even.

"Dice, get over here and help!" Wrench shouted.

A soldier was spread out on the ground, and Wrench was holding his gun. Wrench inched out of the door, aiming his gun at approaching foot-soldiers. Though, there were half a dozen of them.

Dice cautiously followed Wrench outside the door.

"What do you want me to do?" Dice asked.

"Pick up a gun and think up a plan, damn it," Wrench said. "You brag about having a fat brain, right? Use it."

Dice picked up a gun from the ground and took aim at the soldiers. He shot sparingly, trying to save as much ammunition as he could. They were only a few meters away from the engine area.

"You have to be the worst shot that I've ever seen," Wrench said, as he froze another soldier in a zero-point energy field.

Dice ducked behind him, and tried avoiding the barrage of gunfire. He couldn't afford to get shot.

"You have any bright ideas yet?" Wrench asked.

Dice shook his head. Should he tell Wrench about the engine? No. He wouldn't go for it. Even if he would, there were too many eyes and ears.

Dice looked over to Matches. Far too many eyes and ears.

"Bright ideas?" Dice repeated. "Well, now might be a good time for me to actually hit one of these soldiers."

Matches smirked. How could she smirk?

Wrench had them retreat a few meters. Soon, they'd be pressed back up against the walls of their prison. Dice could only be thankful that the soldiers didn't seem to have the best aim themselves, continually missing.

"Dice, my gun is running out of battery," said Wrench. "You're going to need to put the soldiers in the energy shield, and Matches can shoot them all down."

"Not yet," Dice said.

"What do you mean, 'not yet'?" Wrench said, incredulously. "If one of you don't do something quick here, we're not going to be able to pull this off."

"I have a plan. Don't worry."

They continued firing. Three soldiers fell, but more were edging closer. Their numbers were increasing. Dice's sense of apprehension peaked as he stepped back into their prison cell.

He stared into the eyes of one of the soldiers. Something wasn't right. They were missing too much. It almost seemed purposeful.

Matches suddenly broke into a sprint and plunged into the circle of soldiers. As Dice went to shout, he was knocked back by a invisible wall. He was suspended in midair. He tried wrangling his thoughts, but they'd been wiped clean. He waded through endless blank space.

The wave subsided. Dice pulled himself back up from the floor. The soldiers around Matches had collapsed to the ground. Matches had collapsed with them.

Dice took a moment to recoup, before hobbling over to Matches. His head was still spinning, and an ache lodged in the back of his head. Save sheer force of will, every part of Dice was tempted to curl up into a ball.

Dice slung her gun over his shoulder, and held his hand out. Matches rolled over and took it.

"What happened?" Dice asked.

"I let out a burst with my mind," she said. "Their mental block — I don't think it's working anymore."

Dice eyed the experimental engine. It was sputtering like mad.

"How long have I been here anyway?" Matches asked.

Wrench let out an annoyed huff.

"You know just as well as we do," he said. "Both of us were knocked unconscious for quite a bit there."

"I tried to keep the mental blast from affecting you two," said Matches, with a frown. "I guess that I didn't do the best job of that."

"No surprise there," Dice said, shooting Matches a look.

Wrench made a quizzical expression.

"What's with you?"

Dice spun his head about the room, frantically.

"We don't have much time before more soldiers come. They're probably already on their way."

Dice stepped over the bodies of several soldiers, and hobbled to the engine area. Aiming his gun, he looked for the right place to shoot. The pumps? The transistors? He continued scanning. There had to be an Achilles heel.

The engine might explode and kill him if he were to shoot in the wrong place— or, even if he shot in the right place. Dice shuddered. Hopefully it wasn't as powerful as it seemed.

"What are you doing?" Wrench shouted, running toward him. "Are you insane? We should try stealing the pilot's chair, not shooting out the engine! What on earth is that supposed to accomplish!?"

Dice tuned him out. He needed perfect aim in order to properly detonate the engine. His hand shook. He took in a deep breath, steadying it. He couldn't afford the slightest miscalculation.

The barrel of his gun centered around an exhaust pipeline. It appeared to feed into the pistons. It was the safest bet at disrupting the system.

"No!" Wrench shouted. "Don't!"

An immense weight wrapped around Dice's waist. He was flung to the ground, and left fumbling for his gun.

"What was that for?" Dice asked.

"You're going to kill us all," Wrench said.

"Agreed," said Matches. "You on a suicide mission or something, Dice?"

Dice scrambled forward. The gun had slid just in front of the engine. If he could just get a hold of it and pull the trigger...

"Stop it!" said Wrench.

Wrench grabbed Dice by the leg. Dice looked him in the eye. Heat had risen to Wrench's face, turning his scars to a fiery red.

"We need to get out of here, and attack the cockpit," said Wrench, motioning at Matches.

Wrench continued to hold Dice in a lock, while Matches ran toward the door.

"Wait, you don't understand," Dice said. "This engine is failing anyway, without scientists monitoring it. You can hear it. Besides: we don't have a chance at stopping Knowles and his crew. We got lucky just a moment ago. If we plan on making an escape, it needs to be when the entire crew of this aircraft is distracted."

Wrench shook his head.

"You have no damn idea what you're doing," he said. "You shoot out that engine? This whole plane could very well implode into a wormhole. If not that, it's going to crash — and our chances of getting out of a crash alive aren't all that high."

Matches had stopped just at the door. Good. There was still time.

"Those chances are higher than the alternative," Dice said. "Sorry."

He punched Wrench in one of his scars and snatched up the gun. Neither Wrench nor Matches were thinking straight. They were being driven by emotion. He was the only one who was level-headed enough to know what call to make.

Wrench kicked him in the side and pulled his arm back. Dice kicked him in the shin, and then tripped him. There was a cry of pain, followed by a thud as Wrench fell to his knees. Dice's gut twanged.

It'd been necessary though. Nothing was going to get done otherwise.

He took aim at the exhaust pipe once more. Footfalls of somebody running toward him pounded. Matches, no doubt. But, she wouldn't be there in time. Dice already had his finger on the trigger. He just needed to shoot.

He paused for just a moment. What if Wrench was right? What if they wouldn't be able to move fast enough to escape?

"Halt!"

Dice went to pull the trigger, but something made impact with his back. Pain spread up and down his spine, afflicting his every muscle. Writhing on the ground, Dice clung to consciousness as best he could. He was overtaken by a fit of twisting and groaning.

"It's quite alright."

It was Knowles. His voice cut through Dice's ears. Dice managed to turn his head to look into Knowles' vapid eyes. Matches and Wrench thrashed at his feet. Fury coursed through Dice's veins.

There was too much emotion in Knowles. Dice forced himself to look back away and return to the pain. It bore through his skin and wormed its way into his marrow.

"It'll only last five more minutes or so," Knowles said. "Does it hurt? Nevermind. Sorry. Stupid question. It's probably the worst pain that you'll experience in your lives. These nano-transmitters... They lock to your nervous system and send signals throughout your entire body. However, as the old adage goes: 'desperate times call for desperate..'. For desperate actions? Something like that..."

Dice rolled onto his stomach. Knowles kneeled over Matches' paralyzed body. Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, and her back was stapled to the ground.

"If any of you are wondering, this was all just a test," Knowles said. "A test gone haywire, but a test nonetheless."

It was all a test? It didn't make any sense. Nobody would've been able to test him without his knowledge. Dice tried clenching his fingers into a fist, but... Couldn't.

"To be frank with you all, we're no longer in flight," Knowles said. "We've left our engine on, in order to simulate the illusion of flight. But, in actuality, we landed at the detainment center in Omicron just an hour ago."

A slight smirk formed on the edges of Knowles' lips.

"On top of that, I made sure to give my soldiers orders for them to shoot to miss, and to only take you down in direct hand-to-hand combat," Knowles continued. "I know that you're all wondering: why put so much work into manipulating you three into thinking that you'd finally made an escape? The truth is, I needed to know just how powerful— Matches is the name you're going by now, is it? — really was, before detaining her. I didn't expect her to be able to incapacitate all of those soldiers, but I'm glad to now know. We need to set our dampeners accordingly. Speaking of which..."

Knowles displayed a metal frame, fashioned into the shape of a bowl. He placed it over Matches' head like a crown.

"That should keep you in check, until we can permanently disable your abilities," Knowles said.

Matches grunted. Then, her grunts formed to words.

"It. Won't. Work."

"Our advances in research on your abilities have made sure to it that it actually will," said Knowles. "It might be comforting to believe that you're somehow special. But the truth is, you're just one factor out of millions. There's a much bigger world out there, Matches, and you're just a small part of it."

Knowles lifted Matches over his back, and dragged her toward the door. With a whistle, several soldiers spilled out of the door, and came toward Wrench and Dice. Dice clenched his jaw, trying to haul himself out of the sheer pain coursing through his body. Though, he was numb all over.

He was carried close behind Knowles. Soldiers lined the jet, all standing at attention. Each one was prepared to attack. Dice averted his gaze. He couldn't look at them. Not like this.

"Amplify our neural dampeners from level three to level six," Knowles said. "The nano-transmitters are going to wear off pretty soon here. I don't think any of us are keen on facing the repercussions for failing to take proper precautions."

A soldier at Knowles' side gave a stiff nod and ran his fingers along his wrist pad.

As they reached the end of the aircraft, a drawbridge lowered. Dice was dragged down it, and onto a vast runway. Aircraft and military vehicles of all kinds were parked along it. Though, what Dice found more interesting were the countless robots lining the runway's sides. They were all dismantled and disarmed, standing with slumped postures. They gave off an imposing air nonetheless. Their heavyset builds eluded to a processing power that would put any of Knowles' troops to shame.

Why were they all shut off? Another cruel "test" from Knowles?

Dice squinted as he peered over the glaring tips of the military vehicles. The sun was unfolding from the horizon and pulling Omicron's skyline with it — countless rows of chrome monuments, dipped in a marmalade glow. Dice's eyes watered. Basking just under the sun was a crystal pyramid. The U.R.O's largest supercomputer. His eyes jumped to the left, focusing on the rooftop of a nearby building. Holograms leaped over it, in a ballet. His ears picked up a faint melody. It must've been hosting some kind of celebration.

"Welcome to Omicron, the jewel of the U.R.O," Knowles said, in a half chuckle. "The center of hopes, dreams, and half the world's economy. Sorry that you all had to visit it here, in Fort Omicron, rather than one of the more touristy places.... But, hey: we serve the best last meals here."

The runway strip dragged for hundreds of meters as an oversized black brushstroke. At its end was a dome building, which stretched half a mile. Its sides glistened and winked. It seemed glass, but it mirrored its surroundings so seamlessly that Dice questioned whether he was looking into a parallel reality. The reflection was flawless — too flawless. On the outskirts of the dome were warped strands of light. Dice focused on one, and watched it beam across the sky as a stray bolt of electricity.

There must've been some sort of energy barrier surrounding the dome.

"Welcome back to Omicron!"

A man strode in front of them. Silver glasses were fitted around his eyes, blending them into his equally silver hair. Pushing aside the bodyguards flanking his side, he stepped forward to give Knowles a firm handshake.

"President Fischer!" Knowles said, flashing a smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you here! Is the morale parade going well?"

President Fischer snorted.

"Could be going better. There's this massive riot... But, we're fine. It's fine."

He laughed, and then eyed Matches. Wrench. Dice.

Dice shriveled inside. He tried to scowl, but only felt the muscles in his face slacken.

"Anyway, I needed a pick-me-up, and a little birdy told me that you finally captured 'Segue'… Needed to see it for myself. Let's just say, you can color me impressed. And, look at that: you brought some new faces with her too."

"She's going by 'Matches' now. And yes, she grew quite the posse this time around."

President Fischer slapped Knowles on the back. "Of course she is, and of course she did..."

The President leaned into Matches' face and smiled.

"You're doing the lord's work, Knowles. Putting her in maximum security, here... You have no idea how many lives you're saving."

Knowles closed his eyes and shook his head. "My troops inadvertently caused the deaths of several civilians while chasing her. I don't know if I could bear chasing her down again. I don't know if the U.R.O could bear it. You're sure you don't want to destroy her?"

President Fischer cast Knowles a pitying look.

"Knowles, you know why we can't afford to do that. She's a vital resource if we plan on winning this war with the Kelvin Union. Besides: she's safe here. This is the strongest base in the U.R.O! You honestly think she'll escape it?"

"It's no surprise that the military base in Omicron would be the biggest and ugliest..." Wrench said, spitting on the ground.

"Regaining your faculties, I see," said Knowles, with an uncomfortable waver in his voice. "At least I can concur with half of wha—."

The President placed his hand on Knowles' chest, pushing him aside.

"Don't worry," the President said, with a chuckle. "I can handle this guy..."

The President flashed a smirk at Wrench, and stared him in the eye

"This base was indeed created as the biggest, due to Omicron being the largest and most pivotal city in the U.R.O. We can't afford a lapse in defense and must take all precautions to ensure that we're protected."

He gestured to his right, and his left. There were towering walls on each side of him, reinforced with steel and hot red energy shields.

"We've installed the finest technology, in order to ensure the safety of our people," Knowles jumped in, savoring each word. "It's our duty to make sure that our great nation is protected from external threats."

Dice coughed as he regained control of his voice.

"And we're threats?" he asked.

Knowles and the President joined in a sigh of regret. The muscles in Dice's neck tightened.

"You're not exactly what I would call a threat, so much as an incidental symptom of a far more widespread problem," said the President. "You can read about it in my latest book: The Ailments of —."

"You merely tried to aid a threat..." Knowles said, cutting him off. "Perhaps you didn't know the sheer gravity of assisting 'Matches'. Perhaps I didn't do the best job getting my intentions across. Nonetheless, we're separated by a deep chasm. I can't neglect detaining you without a severe blight to my career. It might not be the most venerable of circumstances, but it's necessary for progress."

Dice wanted to hate what Knowles' said with every fiber of his being. Yet, his neck relaxed. Somehow, Knowles' words rang true.

There was a buzz. The President lifted his forearm to his eyes.

"Crap. Well, would you look at that?" the President said, with a snort. "Sorry fellas, but I have to get going. Duty calls."

The President's hair whipped through the air, and there was a steady beating. As the President backed away, a helicopter landed behind him.

"Wait, what?" Knowles said. "You just got here!"

"Yes, well, word apparently got out. So, I better get out. My intel says some rioters are making their way here. I'm going to fancy a guess that they want a headshot — and not the good kind."

"What!?"

"I know, right? Most people want the good kind... Especially of my face. I mean, look at me! That said, when you're popular enough, you get a fair share of hatred. People have been trying to assassinate me all day... No matter, though. My mansion in the Balcombe District is calling my name."

The President waltzed up his drawbridge, while his bodyguards folded back around him.

"I had so much that I wanted to talk to you about though... I have excellent battle strategies for how to invade the—."

"Don't worry," the President said, shouting over the roar of his helicopter. "We can chit-chat later. For now, your... Your command is that you get 'Matches' in her cell, or whatever. Do that, and you just might have a seat in the Senate waiting for you in a month. Alright boys, let's get the hell out of here..."

The helicopter sputtered, and then lifted into the air.

"But, President Fischer... We really need to discuss the —."

"A seat in the Senate, Knowles! Don't! Push! It!"

As the helicopter flew off into the horizon, an alarm went off. Aircraft flew down the runway and launched into the air. Soldiers ran toward turrets lining the walls. Dice's hands went clammy. As he went to wipe them on his pants, he remembered they were handcuffed.

"Great, just great..." Knowles muttered. "Son of a bitch sends the mob after us, and then decides to ditch..."

He cleared his throat.

"They should be able to walk on their own now," Knowles said to the other soldiers. "Set them down, and pick up the pace."

Dice's knees buckled as he was dropped to the ground. He broke into a brisk walk after being shoved from behind several times. Dice could smell the sweat streaming down everybody's faces. Knowles was moving with an unusual lack of form. All of his troops were.

There was an explosion off in the distance.

"Come on people, what did I say? Pick up the pace!"

His voice broke off, and he broke into a jog. Dice tried to keep up, but his leg was on fire. He looked over to Wrench. His face was mapped in pain as well.

"What's going on?" Dice asked.

"Shut up, and speed up," said a soldier behind him, with a grunt.

They were only about fifty meters away from the entrance to the dome base. A section of the energy field was already giving away to let them in. Though, behind him was the roar of more aircraft as they flew into the sky. Dice craned his neck over the base's high walls. Smoke had clouded over Omicron's pearly skyline.

"They having a barbecue over there?" Wrench said, in a strained breath.

He was just shoved forward and knocked to the ground. Dice looked behind for their soldier, only to find him fleeing with a wild look in his eye.

"Everybody needs to move! Somebody, help me get Matches into the base. Ignore the others. Whatever we do, we need to get behind that shield!"

Dice moved as he could, trying to catch up with them. He watched as the soldiers worked together to lift up Matches and run her past the shield. Dice's heart pounded, and his mouth went dry.

"Wrench, come on!" he said.

Wrench was still struggling behind him, trying to keep up the pace.

It thundered overhead. Dice looked up and saw a fiery missile with a trail behind it. It was nosediving toward the airstrip. Dice picked up his feet. He just needed to get to the other side of the energy field. It wasn't that far.

Though, the soldiers were only getting farther away and edging closer to the energy field. Wrench was getting further too. Dice swallowed. He was alone, in handcuffs, hobbling for his life. He looked up and had the itching suspicion that he was about to be obliterated by a missile as well.

As the soldiers made it past the energy field, it closed behind them.

That was it. Matches was gone, left at their mercy. Whatever laid beyond the field and within the fort? It was up to her alone to overcome it. Dice's gut became heavy.

There was absolutely nothing he could do.

Chapter 21:

Wrench wore a downcast look, sweat knitting into his brow.

"I don't think we're getting out of here," said Dice, looking up at the missile. It had sped up as it drew into the airstrip.

"I wasn't prepared for this," said Wrench, coming to Dice's side. He stooped over to catch his breath.

"I think Matches was," Dice said. "Would've been nice if she'd given us a heads up..."

"Not her fault. Can't expect her to tell us everything — she's prepared for damn near anything."

"Except death," Dice said.

Wrench raised his eyebrows. "Out of any of us, Matches seems most ready for even that."

Silence hovered over the airstrip, until broken apart by a boom. A dull ringing nipping at his ears, Dice stumbled back. He looked up to find a fading ball of fire and smoke.

"Yes! Did you see that?" said Wrench.

Dice nodded and grinned.

"Is it wrong that I'm glad Knowles' troops hit their target? That, in a weird way, I want them to win?"

"I know this much: I didn't want to stay the missile's target."

Dice's grin splintered off.

"Yeah, but... If they win, we go into their prison. We become just as much a pawn of the U.R.O as any of the troops."

"Yeah, but you already said that you want them to win. Better put: you don't want to die. So, aren't you their pawn already?"

The fireball turned to flakes of ash. Dice was so small. As a flake drifted away in a gust, Dice's eyes drifted with it. Wrench was right, wasn't he? They were just cogs in a sprawling, purposeless machine.

The sky flared as another missile was blasted out of the sky. Thrashing, the ground knocked Dice over. Dice retched. His ears pounded. Rolling over, he wriggled his body. He needed to get back on his feet. Though, his cuffs kept him down, as if to taunt him.

"Watch me," Wrench said, voice warbling below the explosion's lingering hum.

Wrench rocked on his back, before using the momentum to spring back to his feet. Debris on the ground bit into Dices back as he mimicked Wrench. Just back, and forth.

After a few tries, he was on his feet.

"God almighty," said Wrench.

A crater defiled the center of the airstrip. Soldiers ran toward it from all sides, while a fire burst through. Dice's ears were clouded by a pulsating thud, but he could still make out the fire's roar.

Taking queue from the fire's smoke, the last of the U.R.O's aircraft rose from the strip. Missiles flew through the sky from all sides. Holes ripped through the base's walls, leaving trails of urgency and desperation. Dice watched the corner of his eye to see soldiers reactivating some of their robots.

"Things don't look good," Dice said.

"What else is new?" Wrench said, face twisting into a scowl.

Despite Wrench's efforts, Dice caught a flurry of concern and confusion hidden behind his scowl. It was in the way that his lips twitched and eyes swam.

"Come on Wrench. Chin up. Give me some sort of plan here. I need something."

Wrench sighed and shook his head. "It's not... Nothing is clear. I—."

Wrench jerked around and ducked. A blaster narrowly missed his head. Dice ducked after him. Wrench's eyes narrowed, filling with stiff resolution. Dice could hear the wheels turning in Wrench's head.

"You know what? Scratch what I just said. I know exactly what we're going to do."

Dice smirked. "And, what's that?"

Wrench pointed at the rows of turrets and robots along the wall. Most were shooting into the distance at enemy forces. However, some had turned around, taking aim at Wrench and him.

As one of them blasted at Wrench, Wrench jumped out of the way, and held his cuffed hands out. The blaster hit them, breaking the locks. Dice stared, dumbfounded.

"Come on," Wrench said, eagerly.

"Are you insane? I could lose my arm!"

Another blast went off. Wrench pushed Dice forward, and then gripped his arms.

"What — what are you —?"

Dice held back a wince. Part of his forearm had was singed.

"Well, would you look at that?" said Wrench. "You still have both of your arms, free to use now."

Dice stretched his arms out but grunted as he eyed the steaming burn on his right forearm.

"Most of them, anyway," Dice mumbled. Then, raising his voice he said, "Why are they shooting at us? We're clearly not the threat here."

"If you want to ask them, be my guest," Wrench, speeding up as he headed for the energy shields.

Several more blasts landed at Dice's feet. Even as his leg shot with pain, Dice picked up his pace. Explosions went off in the distance, turning Dice's hearing to mush. Dice turned down his hearing aid, but his ears still throbbed.

"Have they mistaken us for the enemy?" Dice asked.

"No," Wrench said, with a raspy chuckle. "How is it that you can think so highly and lowly of the U.R.O at the same time? Look: we are the enemy, as of right now. You think they see loose prisoners as loyal? They don't have time to arrest us, and it's better for them if we die here than escape and live to kick their sorry asses at a later date."

Dice kept his head down as several more blasts whizzed overhead.

"If the objective is to escape, then why are we going toward the energy field?" Dice asked. "All we're doing is getting closer to the prison."

"That's the idea."

"But, if that's your idea, we have no way of getting inside the prison."

"God, you're slow. That's the wrong idea."

Dice shot Wrench a look but said nothing more.

The thin foil of the energy barrier was mere centimeters from Dice's face. Would it be so bad if he touched it? He reached out his hand, but a shock of electricity leapt from the field, cautioning him.

"So, where's your brilliant way of getting in?" Dice asked.

Wrench gave Dice a tired smirk and patted him on the back. Every scar on his face told a different story. Yet, Wrench's face told the biggest one: he just wanted this all to end.

"You have no imagination," Wrench said.

He tilted his chin upward. Five missiles fell from the sky. They'd nearly reached the field when one was shot out of the sky by a U.R.O jet. Then another. Dice bit his lip.

The remaining three missiles made impact. The field fizzled, before brightening. Dice took a step back and shielded his eyes as sparks of energy darted along it.

"It's only become stronger," Dice said.

"From where I'm standing, it looks like that's the goal," Wrench said. "Those resistance fighters don't look like they're aiming to take out the field with missiles..."

A barrage of missiles flew at the jet. The jet managed to shoot four out of the sky, but the rest made impact with the jet's hull. Rendered a deformed husk, the jet fell toward the energy shield. Dice ducked as there was another explosion, followed by a whoosh. The air sucked out of Dice's lungs. He reopened his eyes to find the jet had imploded into a wormhole. The electric barrier warped as it fed into the wormhole and disappeared. Scrambling back, Dice could already feel the wormhole pulling at his hair and skin.

Wrench jumped on top of him, holding him down. The energy field sparked and hissed. There was a slight zap on Dice's skin. Then complete silence. Dice pushed Wrench off of him to find that the base was wide open, and utterly exposed to attack.

"How did you know they were going to do that?" Dice said.

"Lucky guess," Wrench said, walking off to the fort. "Maybe that plan of yours back in Knowles' ship wasn't so stupid after all..."

Dice's heart was a stretched rubber-band. He wheezed as he kept after Wrench. His leg ached. Yet, fear sunk into the back of his mind, propelling him forward

Off in the distance, Knowles and his crew were walking away from the base. They moved methodically, with purpose. Dice squinted his eyes. Was Matches still with them?

Dull cries went off overhead as U.R.O aircraft engaged in firefights. Haphazardly arcing over the base, they pelted the ground with the sparks of their blasts and missiles. They were the worst U.R.O pilots Dice had ever seen.

One of them dropped a missile on the base, collapsing an entire section of roof. Dice's eyes widened. They were resistance pilots. The U.R.O planes had been hijacked.

Dice took in a deep breath of relief. They were saved.

Though, there was no getting further away from the jets, and the jets were only getting closer to imploding the base.

"You sure about this?" asked Dice.

Wrench shook his head.

"No. But, we need to save Matches."

More U.R.O jets flew overhead. This time, they left behind trails of people. People rained from the sky, outfitted with sleek jetpacks and compact armor. As they landed, they began firing toward the U.R.O base.

As they began to take aim at Dice and Wrench, Dice raised his arms in surrender.

"We're fugitives!" Dice explained. "The U.R.O captured us and sent us here to be detained! We're one of you!"

One of the resistance fighters snarled. Though, a man barked from the back, prompting them to lower their guns and march off toward the base. A man stepped out from the fray. He was tall and lean. His hair was a dirty blond, and his face was smeared in only more layers of dirt.

"Fugitives, eh?" he said. "You enemies of the U.R.O?"

Dice nodded, only to find that the man's face darkened. The man raised his gun.

"We'll let you stay with us, for now," the man said. He took a glance at Wrench. "It looks like you can take some hits, and I'd rather it be from them, than from us. But, make no mistake: we're not 'enemies' of the U.R.O. And, if you are? We'll make sure to give you just as great of a punishment, or worse."

He lowered his gun, and reached out his hand. Dice went to take it, but the man gave his hand to Wrench instead.

"Alright, hazing is over," he said, smiling. "I'm Vert, by the way. Vert Muller."

"You a commander?" Wrench asked. "A general?"

Vert burst into laughter and shook his head.

"You have the wrong idea scar — scarred guy. Scarred man? I'm looking for a nickname, but I can't come up with one..."

Wrench gave a withering look. "Off to a great start, aren't we? It's Wrench, and he's Dice."

"Nice nicknames? Don't worry, we can workshop them. Anyway, as I was saying: I'm their leader, but I'm no commander. This isn't a military operation."

"Then what the hell is it?"

Vert shrugged.

"A reigniting. A clan. And you're now part of it."

An aircraft crashed in front of them. Jumping back, Vert fired at it with a fury.

"Clansmen, get them some firearms, before... Arms... fire them," Vert shouted to the clansmen still falling from the air.

He broke into a sprint toward the rest of his crew.

As more clansmen landed, they offered Dice and Wrench spare blasters. As Wrench took his, Dice shook his head and sidestepped away.

"I'd prefer not to use weapons," Dice said. "I don't have any stake in this fight."

The fighters and Wrench shot annoyed scowls, before moving toward the base. Knowles and his soldiers were already raining hellfire on the clansmen, knocking them down with ease. The only thing keeping the Clan's numbers from shriveling to nothing was the steady stream still coming from the air.

"Maybe we should just get out of here," Dice said.

"You insane?" Wrench said. "We can't just leave Matches behind."

Despite Wrench's words, Dice took a look behind. The airstrip was littered in fallen aircraft and wounded soldiers. He swallowed and turned back to Wrench.

"The only way for us to get out of this mess is to power through," Wrench said.

"We're on the losing side."

"We need to lose smart then," Wrench said. Then, he stared Dice dead in the eyes. They were cold, and rigid. "If we get captured again, shoot me."

Wrench aimed his gun and fired ahead, letting his morbid words hang between them.

After several minutes of watching Wrench blast into nowhere, Dice saw Vert hurtling toward them. His face was flushed, and eyes were glazed with a terror.

"There's too much," Vert said. "We're not going to win this. I wasn't prepared..."

"Really? I never would've guessed..." Wrench said,

Layers of blood and grease sloped down Vert's face. His eyes wouldn't stop moving, and a fixed grimace was on his lips.

"These U.R.O troops are more aggressive than any of us accounted for," continued Vert. "We decided to attack here last minute — no prior planning. So stupid. We only have about fifty more volunteers coming, before we're clean out of people."

"That's nice to know," Wrench said, still edging closer to the battle zone.

They were only fifteen meters away from Knowles, who was busy slinging people around like dolls. People fled, but Knowles only worked faster. Screams bloomed. They withered. Even as Knowles was caught in maelstrom of firepower, he kept his pace.

"He's a tough one, that guy," Vert said.

Dice glanced to his side. Vert's eyes dropped, and feet shuffled. He'd been tracking his gaze.

"Real egotist too," Vert continued. "Thinks he doesn't need conventional weapons. That he's so strong. He's just trying to instill fear in us."

Vert sent several blasts in Knowles' direction. Though, they petered before making it halfway. Skimming Vert's gun, Dice saw half of its barrel had been chewed off. Vert shot Dice a look, before gingerly placing his hand over the chewed barrel.

"These guns are crap," Vert explained. "Most are built from spare generators we tore out of robots. I hoped they'd at least last longer than this, but... Well, robot tech isn't what it's made out to be."

Dice nodded, but his eyes were back on Knowles. None of the Clan stood a chance. They were pitiful, really. Dice frowned. He should've felt inspired — but it was meaningless. The rockets, the blasts, the shouts... All of their strain went in vain. Wrench fired tirelessly at U.R.O troops, but even he wore a face of apathy.

The strip's clean black marble was tarnished by crude gashes, speckling throughout. The dome base was smothered in flames and crashed jets. Thousands of hours of design and creativity... and it was destroyed in minutes.

Dice squinted. Something was tucked just by the edge of the base, behind Knowles and his crew. A person.

"I found Matches," Dice said, elbowing Wrench. "Look — next to the door of the base. They must be keeping her there until they can stop the airstrikes on the base."

Wrench's firing subsided for a moment. He smirked dryly. A pit formed in Dice's gut as he anticipated Wrench's next words.

"Then, that's where we're headed."

Vert pressed behind Wrench, his gun jumping between targets. He chuckled.

"Wait, what do we need matches for?" Vert asked. "And, where are we going?"

"We're going through the death arena over there," Wrench said. "Been awhile since I've been able to light a cigarette..."

Vert's eyes bulged.

"Have you seen what's happened to my volunteers? As much as I'd like to be slaughtered, we should stay over here!"

Wrench snorted.

"Yeah, well, you can stay over here then," he said. "Me? I have to save a friend."

Wrench marched forward, into the lightshow of blasts and explosions. Taking each step with caution, Dice went after him. He cast a look over his shoulder. Vert remained rooted in his place, hands stuffed in his pockets, but his eyes were among the battle. Finally, Dice gave a whistle. Vert followed.

Tears were put through Dice's bodysuit, as balls of energy grazed his skin. Knowles' squad had better aim than anybody else on the strip, and Dice took care to stand behind walls of clansmen. A single shot to the chest spelled death.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Vert said, as a grenade arced over his head. An electric pulse went off, leaving dozens of guns disabled. "This is — this is idiotic."

"I can't say I disagree," Dice muttered.

"What was that?" Wrench shouted. "I don't know what's gotten into you Dice, but you need to snap out of it! We're not abandoning Matches, goddammit! If neither of you wanted the risk of dying today, then you shouldn't have showed up!"

Vert's mouth hung open, limply. He mouthed something inaudible, and promptly closed it.

Vert leaned into Dice's ear.

"He really likes matches, doesn't he?" he whispered. "Is he a pyromaniac? Or, is he just not all there, upstairs?"

"'Matches' is the name of our friend," Dice said.

Vert's face reddened.

"Oh..." he said, with a laugh. "Well, I, uh — I already knew that. But, thanks anyway."

He cleared his throat.

"Wrench, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," said Vert. "I didn't abandon my group and join you guys because I thought that I could avoid dying, even if that's exactly what it sounds and looks like. I joined you because you were the only ones who looked like they knew what they were doing."

"If this fight keeps up like this, I don't think our looks are going to last much longer."

Clansmen collapsed in front of Dice. As a U.R.O soldier dashed by, Vert aimed his gun. The trigger clicked, but the barrel only whined. Rubbing the back of his neck, Vert shied back behind Wrench.

"Looks like we hit the end of the line," Wrench said, as more U.R.O soldiers flanked around them. "If we're going down, I suggest that we go down together."

Vert wiped a streak of grime and sweat from his forehead, and grinned confidently at Wrench.

"I'm not going down today," he said. He flashed a communicator chip connected to his forearm. "Spark-plugs... Spark-park? Sparky-barky? Sparky, are you there? Come in, Sparky. This is a code red! Sync with my coordinates, and launch the backup strike."

Wrench tried to take cover behind a fresh wall of people, but they were steadily draining away. Dice scanned the battle. The U.R.O soldiers had them vastly outnumbered

Wrench snapped his head around to launch a few blasts, before turning back to scrunch his eyebrows at Vert's communicator.

"It's a communications device with a fellow coordinator, and key hacker," explained Vert. "He currently has direct access to the U.R.O's—."

A roar rippled through the crowd. An armada of missiles was flying toward them. The crowd crumbled, and Wrench hobbled for the door of the base. Dice stared at the flare of the missiles. The way the sun glinted off their noses. It snared him an invisible net. He saw a flash of an old nightmare. And old memory. A cold light, bouncing off a monitor.

"Dice!" Wrench shouted.

Dice blinked and stumbled after him. How could he have let himself be so stupid?

"So, you have direct control over a hacker unit?" Wrench asked Vert, once Dice had caught up. "Why is that?"

Vert heaved.

"It's a hacker. And, I have control because I'm one of the primary coordinators of this group," he said.

"You're one of the primary coordinators?" Wrench asked. "So, you're basically a commander then?"

"Yes. But, I'm — I'm not a commander."

Wrench frowned but nodded.

"If you're one of the primary coordinators, then why in god's name are you with us, rather than with the rest of your troop?"

"Because I felt like it. Is there a problem with that?"

Wrench's eyes sharpened but snapped shut as the missiles made impact. Leaning on Wrench to keep steady, Dice took a step forward. Matches was just ahead of them, in cuffs and a blindfold.

"Matches! We're coming for —."

Wrench let out a cough. Dice finally turned to see a downpour of plasma blasts from Knowles' crew. Wrench let out a shout as he fired on them, and Vert took a spare gun from a fallen resistance fighter.

"Time's up," a soldier said.

A swarm of U.R.O aircraft circled over the base, knocking the rogue U.R.O aircraft out of the sky. Only a few remained. Though, where had the swarm come from? Hadn't all of the U.R.O's aircraft already been deployed? How was there more?

Dice shrunk back. Fort Omicron was the biggest base in the U.R.O. This airstrip must've been only a blip. U.R.O responders were going to keep coming, until all the Clan was subdued.

Turrets unfolded out of compartments in the base's wall. Heat drained from Dice's face as he looked back to Matches. The chances were too high that he'd be shot before reaching her. Besides — how would he remove her cuffs? There was simply no way to save her.

He didn't want to save her.

"What are you standing there for?" Wrench said. "You go and get her out of the restraints— we can hold them off."

"I won't let you down," Dice said, scooping a gun up from the ground. His words were plastic, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet, they were all he had.

"We might let you down, unless these guys let up," said Vert, with a whimper.

Wrench shot Vert a look, while Dice stumbled over to Matches. Looking down at her, Dice clenched his fists. He could've said something. Anything. He stared, gun hanging limply at his side. Matches had betrayed him. There was no telling how much further she was willing to go.

His eyes focused in on her cuffs. Her blindfold. The device crowning her head. His arm shifted. His ears stung. His hand gripped around Matches' wrist, and he pushed the barrel of his gun against her cuffs. He removed the device and blindfold from Matches' head. For a moment, Matches' face was morphed — almost alien. Then Matches' eyes glimmered at Dice, a grin spreading across her face.

"You decided to save my sorry ass, instead of trying to save yourself?" she said. "Glad to see you have your priorities straight."

Dice scowled and gave a shrug.

"Glad you got that thing off of me," Matches said, pointing at her discarded helmet. "It was strapped so tight, it was killing me. Shame that my mind powers still aren't going to work in here though."

"Yeah... A real shame," Dice said, snarling. He pulled the trigger of his gun. "Crap."

"What?"

"It's not working."

Dice looked over his shoulder. Wrench and Vert struggled to wrench free from a pile of U.R.O soldiers and robots. A chill crawled down Dice's arm. He slapped the gun against his palm and pulled the trigger again.

"Maybe I should go back and get a new gun."

"No time. Just keep pressing it."

There were a dozen more clicks. Nothing. Sweat beaded down Dice's brow. He just had to stop thinking. Keep pressing.

A spark spurted from the tip of his gun, breaking through Matches' cuffs.

"Thank god!" Matches said. "My arm was really starting to cramp. My good—."

"— your good arm?" Dice said, raising an eyebrow.

"How'd you guess?"

Dice took aim at the soldiers. He bit his tongue. Finally, Matches wrapped her own hand around the gun. There was a click. A zap. Knowles troops rolled off of Wrench and Vert, rendered steaming corpses. Dice winced and looked away.

"Just a lucky shot in the dark," Dice said.

A robotic head rolled onto his foot and stared up at him. Burned through his skull. Its slit eyes admonished him for the dead soldiers. Though, had he really had an option? Dice folded his arms into his chest as a wave of nausea passed.

Chapter 22:

"What are you two standing there for?" Wrench said. "We need to head out of here. Let's. Get. Moving!"

Wrench's voice was thin and brittle. His head jerked over his shoulder. Knowles strode toward them, stunted only by a feeble few clansmen.

"If we plan to escape, this rescue mission really hasn't done us any favors," said Vert, casting a dubious look at Wrench.

"Shut up," said Wrench.

"Wait, I thought that you only ever told me to shut up," said Matches.

"Yeah, well I found a wise guy ten times more annoying than even you..."

"A wise guy who also happens to be the key coordinator of the Clan — this resistance," Vert said, proudly resting his arms on his sides.

"Was the key coordinator," Wrench said, bumbling toward Knowles. "Now come on — we all have a plane to steal."

Vert snorted. "Yeah, let's all walk toward the biggest threat on this airstrip. That makes sense..."

"If you have any bright ideas, lay them on me," Wrench said.

The air reeked of sweat and desperation. Dice looked around, running through different plans and possibilities. His eyes flitted over all the bodies that'd been shot down.

"Before we plunge into certain death, I just need to ask one more time: what did you guys need her for again?" Vert asked.

"God, Wrench was right about something for once," Matches said, glaring at Vert.

Wrench smirked. "Glad to have you back."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"What else am I supposed to say? You still owe me a couple hundred radials... And a rematch at cards."

Matches chuckled, but it was halfhearted at best. Before there was a chance for her to breathe, a U.R.O jet flew over them. The ground rumbled. Dice turned. The massive entrance to the base had reopened. Dice broke into a splintered sprint as the base's turrets, soldiers, and aircraft launched a flurry of attacks. Dice kept close to Matches' side. He couldn't let her be captured again.

As the blasts died down, Knowles materialized from their clearing smoke. A vicious smile was on his face. His fingers scraped against his metal leg, sharpening. There had to be a way around him.

A plane crashed on each side of Knowles.

"Do you have any escape parties planned?" Wrench asked Vert, tiredly.

The bags under Wrench's eyes had deepened. In place of terror, his face held mild annoyance. He was entirely numb to it all.

"Yes," said Vert. "I ordered the Clan to hijack a few U.R.O planes and keep them at the end of the airstrip. Now that you mention it, I could probably try calling some of them here. Maybe. That's only if our plans to hijack the planes haven't already been intercepted..."

"I need you to sound more confident than that, in account of how shit the rest of your attack stratagem has been."

Vert said nothing. Knowles was only a few meters off.

Trepidation slowed their steps. Knowles sped into a sprint. Within seconds, he descended into a steady pace among them. Dice dug for a sign of fear. He just needed to find a hint of anxiety. Yet, he came up short. Knowles' posture was relaxed, and his eye serene. He knew nothing that could be done to him. All of their weapons were too slow. Sporadic direct attacks would be too feeble. Besides — Knowles' troops were marching not far off, from all sides. They were trapped in a death circle.

"I see you've made a new friend," Knowles said gesturing to Vert.

Vert shook his head. "Friend? No, no, no... You have the wrong idea. I have no idea who these people are."

Knowles' disregarded him, his red eye flicking to Matches.

"I'm impressed that you found a way to escape, intact..." he said. Yet, disappointment bled from his voice. "Though, at this point, I suppose I shouldn't be underestimating your ingenuity. You have a knack for tearing up my plans... My life."

He stared off in the distance, turning his head to brandish his metal half. His right arm swiped at the flesh half of his face. Had he wiped away a tear? It'd been too fast to tell. Though, it must've been faked. Knowles was only trying to goad sympathy.

That had to have been it.

"This past week has been a series of tragedies for me and the U.R.O," Knowles said, turning back to face them. His face was a deeper shade of red. His eye was cloudy. "I'd prefer to stave off one more tragedy, if I can. I'm intimately familiar with the survival instinct that exists within all of us... But, I need you all to surrender quietly."

Wrench spat at the ground. Knowles raised the corner of his lip in slight annoyance.

"Is that a no?"

Matches smirked.

"I can do that 'surrender' bit for you," Matches said. "But, I'm not keen on doing it quietly. You get me?"

Knowles gestured over his shoulder at his growing mass of soldiers.

"If you want to be smart, let me remind you that I have an army," he said. "They're all here. They're fully equipped to take any of you down, if necessary. And, look: I don't want another fight between us. Many of my soldiers have betrayed me today, and many more have died. Worse yet, much of the U.R.O's civilians — the very people we've sworn to protect — are dead. I don't want to escalate crisis any more than is necessary."

Vert scoffed.

"I doubt the U.R.O's governing powers consider us 'civilians'," said Vert. "The Clan was recently declared a band of traitorous radicals by President Fischer himself."

"Yes, you're right," Knowles said. "That was a poor choice of words by Fischer."

Knowles strode forward, placing one of his metal fingers on Vert's chin. A growl came from the bottom of Knowles' throat.

"'Terrorist' is a more... succinct term... But, that doesn't mean you aren't civilians. Citizens, who were gifted rights by our fine nation. Your deaths today would be a tragedy to me, even if by nobody else."

Vert trembled but managed to roll his eyes at Knowles' words. Knowles' own eyes remained fierce, and rigid. Acid rose in Dice's throat. Despite everything, Knowles carried an earnestness about himself.

"You may think I hate you and your club," Knowles said. "And, you see, you'd be right. The fact that you've incurred pity out of me, in spite of everything you've done, is one of the things I hate the most. But, that won't make me view you as anything less than a civilian."

Dice's head spun while untangling the threads of Knowles' logic. Knowles took a glance at Dice and smiled. It was as if he found delight in Dice's confusion. Could Knowles could read Dice as much as Dice could read Knowles'?

Knowles unlatched his finger from Vert's chin and gave a deep sweep of his arms.

"All of this chaos," he said, voice rising above the roars of blasts and aircraft engines. "All of it stems from a hotbed of misunderstanding. An unwillingness to believe that we have your best interests at heart. Understand this: we have a war going on, within the Kelvin Union. The fate of the U.R.O hangs in the balance. And you three? All you're doing is tipping the scales in the wrong direction."

Dice clenched his teeth. Knowles needed a punch in the jaw. He didn't have a moral high-ground. He was the biggest murderer standing on the airstrip. However, Dice couldn't bring himself to attack. He couldn't allow his emotions to drive him.

"I'm sorry things led to this," Knowles said, "I'm sorry we let people become so disillusioned as to fight their own protectors. However, if you give yourselves up to reason... You'll find that our goals are not so misaligned from each other."

The soldiers edged closer, their stomps piercing through Dice's hearing aid. Knowles raised his hand, prompting them to stop.

"I'd like to carry out my conversation with them, thank you," Knowles said.

He walked over to Wrench. Wrench's eyes were blazing. Knowles took no notice, scanning Wrench with the same indifference that he had toward his soldiers.

"A person's eyes reveal so many things about them," Knowles said simply. "Yours? They're small. Weak. You're the greatest coward here."

"Tell me something that I don't know," said Wrench. "And next time, I'd like you to mean it."

Knowles smirked.

"What are you smiling about?" Wrench asked. "If you want to kill us, just do it. No reason to toy with us."

Knowles shook his head.

"I don't want to kill you... and, I'm not toying with you. On the contrary: I'm teaching you."

"Teaching us what?"

"That the U.R.O cares."

"By killing all of these Clansmen? By sticking Matches in cuffs and a blindfold? By taunting us, while we're hopelessly outnumbered? You have a backassward way of going about things."

Knowles chuckled cruelly. "Out of all the people here, you're the one I feel hatred toward. Want to know why?"

Knowles' red eye locked onto Wrench, awaiting an answer. It didn't get one.

"Because you don't like me," Knowles finally said.

Wrench coughed, then scoffed.

"You think anybody here likes you?"

"Those who don't at least know to respect me. Fear me. Listen to me. But you? You won't even give me that courtesy. You only hold hatred — you're too afraid to admit when you're wrong."

"You got a lot of nerve to tell me that."

"I've looked up your background, Toby. You squandered your life away through underground criminal trades. Yet, you somehow think you're higher than me. Me: somebody who's just following orders. There's not an ounce of integrity in you, is there?"

"Always figured a gram was close enough."

Wrench lunged forward, bashing Knowles with his shoulder. Knowles just absorbed the impact, but a blast went off, knocking Knowles to fall to the ground. Dice was left dumbfounded.

As he looked around, he realized it didn't matter that Wrench had tackled Knowles. They were still surrounded by an army of troops, all closing in. It was bleak. Hopeless.

There was a rumble. Dice's gaze turned to the sky, to find another armada of U.R.O fighter jets. Dice's spirits fell. They rose as Vert let out a whoop of joy.

They weren't normal U.R.O fighter jets.

"Backup has arrived, people!" Vert said.

A gap opened amidst the soldiers as blasts rained down. Vert ran toward the gap and Matches followed after.

"Just a thought: maybe don't announce 'backup has arrived' when backup arrives next time?" Matches shouted.

Their voices became more distant. Dice's eyes were caught on Wrench, who was kept in a headlock by Knowles. Wrench's face turned purple. The fire in his eyes turned to ember. Dice's finger slid down the seam of his bodysuit. His ears burned red. He was a statue, left only to observe.

"This wasn't at all part of my plan," Knowles said, letting Wrench out of his headlock, and slinging him away. "But, you've clearly made your choice."

Dice dove at the ground, grabbing Wrench's loose gun. He aimed it at Knowles. However, Knowles' foot rested on Wrench's head and his arm splayed out to block any blast. Wrench coughed haggardly and spit out a tooth.

Knowles' eyes jumped between Vert, Matches, and Dice. Dice's stomach coiled each time Knowles' eyes jumped back to him. It was only ever for a fleeting moment, but it was long enough for Dice to know he couldn't read Knowles'. Knowles had a way of hiding himself when he wanted. He could glean more out of each glance than Dice.

"If you're going to shoot that at me, shoot it," Knowles said.

His arm raised toward Dice's face. His fingers clicked crisply as they slid forward, unlatching from Knowles' knuckles. They were ready to fire. Dice only smiled. Knowles' eye was directed at Vert and Matches — he was bluffing.

Knowles lowered his arm.

"You can't do it, can you?" Knowles said.

Dice took a step back, as he fingered the trigger. Pressing it, Dice felt his finger go numb. His stomach turned over, and his head rolled. He was bluffing just as much as Knowles.

He looked to the sky, where aircraft glided over sunrays. He looked to Vert and Matches, who were bounding to freedom. He looked to the U.R.O soldiers surrounding him, who were all either dead or crawling on their bellies. Everything was unspeakably far, yet unspeakably close.

"Drop the gun, or shoot it," Knowles said. "You have the chance to stop me. If your cause was worth anything at all... You'd kill me."

Dice looked down. Wrench was still trapped underneath Knowles' thick metal leg. Wrench's hands clawed at it, but he couldn't get it to budge. Rotors chirped as they pushed harder against Wrench's skull.

"I'm not going to be like you," Dice said.

Knowles rolled his eyes, and then raised his arm.

"I thought so," said Knowles. Confidence surged back into his eyes.

A knife-tipped fingers launched from his arm. Dice fell on his back. He clutched his stomach. It was as if thousand needles protruded from it. Though, it was just the one. That fact only made the pain all the worse.

"Don't worry," Knowles said. "It should only barely pierce skin. It'll probably leave a severe scar, but you'll recover."

Dice bit his tongue. Covered his mouth. Writhed on his side. Anything to keep from howling in pain. Sympathy mapped across Knowles' face.

"I'm sorry," Knowles said. "But, I'm called the 'Knife' for a reason. I have a job to do."

Dice studied him and tried to look for a lapse in his expressions. There wasn't one.

"Alright, Commander Tin-foil. Time's up."

His arms gripping around Knowles' neck, Vert yanked Knowles back. Knowles thrashed about, trying to shake Vert away. Vert's face scrunched. His arms held fast. Matches came under Knowles and grabbed his flesh leg. Knowles teetered. His metal leg unlatched from Wrench's head.

Dice rolled over and crawled toward them. The metal shard in his stomach tore at his skin, traveling inward. He'd only made it a meter, before rolling back over in defeat.

Knowles' metal arm nabbed Vert by the back, slamming him to the ground. Knowles aimed his arm. As Matches reeled her fist back, an orb of energy ripped through Knowles' armor and left shoulder. He collapsed on the ground. Shock coursed through Dice's veins as two more holes were put through Knowles' body.

Vert and Matches jumped back, their eyes welling with terror. Wrench gripped Dice by the arm and pulled him up. Dice saw Wrench's face, then looked away. It'd been slathered in an unadulterated rage.

"Let's get out of here," Wrench said, pulling Dice over his shoulder and limping forward.

He yanked the shard out of Dice's stomach. Dice wheezed from the pain. He knew blood was pouring from his wound. An alarm hammered in his head, telling him to lay down. Sleep. He forced himself to keep moving.

"Stay standing," Wrench said, readjusting Dice's position.

An aircraft descended just up ahead of them. Vert let out a laugh.

"They came back for us," he said.

"And here I was thinking that we were going to have to take another transport tube," said Matches, wearing her classic smirk.

"Don't get too cocky yet," Wrench said.

Wrench hobbled past Knowles' body. Knowles' good eye had gone glassy, his red eye had dimmed, and he was captive to a retching cough. Dice stared at the holes burned into Knowles' shoulders. He couldn't help but feel a sort of pity.

Knowles jerked forward.

"Give me Matches," Knowles said, in a shout.

Knives had shot out of Knowles' hand. Suddenly, it was harder to stand up. Dice looked at Wrench. All of the color had drained from his face. Dice slid his arms under Wrench's armpits, but wasn't fast enough. Wrench fell next to Knowles, in a cold thump.

Dice's heart thudded against his ribcage. It raced forward. He forced himself to count each beat. He expected the beats to end at any moment. He wanted them too. They didn't.

Wrench's did.

Everything became a buzz. Knowles sprung from the ground and tried attacking them. Vert overtook him. There were blasts from yet another backup fleet of U.R.O soldiers. A fleet large enough to wipe out all of Vert's Clan with ease. However, Dice couldn't look at it for long. Any of it. He and Matches stayed knelt at Wrench's side.

Dice held Wrench's hand, and brushed his other hand along Wrench's scarred forehead. He felt as warmth seeped from Wrench's body. Dice glanced at Wrench's chest. The four blades from Knowles' hand were there, wading in a pool of blood.

It wasn't fair. They didn't belong there. They should've been Dice's own chest. Yet, there they were. There they stayed.

Dice's hand hovered over Wrench's chest. Maybe he could pull them out. Though, there would be no use. Wrench's eyes were already dipping in and out of consciousness.

"Did I ever tell you you're a real bastard sometimes?" Matches said, squeezing Wrench's other hand.

"Just about a dozen times, smartass," Wrench said. He wheezed.

Dice watched Wrench's eyes. Wrench's pupils were shrinking.

"Wrench," Dice said.

He should've said more. However, his mind was blank.

"Don't worry about me," Wrench said, eyes closing. "I already told you: I didn't plan on coming out of this alive."

Dice opened his mouth to speak, before biting his tongue. His eyes and nose set on fire. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I—," Dice choked. He sputtered.

There was a blast off in the distance, followed by a series of shouts. Dice didn't look. He didn't want to. He didn't need to. He already knew what those shouts meant.

Everything needed to freeze. If he could just hang up time... Make things stretch a little longer...

"Dice, we have to make our escape," Matches said. "This is our last chance."

"You still owe me those radials," Wrench said, as a faint smile spread across his face. "Make sure to reshuffle your deck once we've made our way out of here."

Matches beamed and turned back to Wrench. "I thought that you hate it when I shuffle."

"I do. But, whenever I lose after you shuffle, I'm at least able to say you cheated..."

Matches laughed. Dice wiped his tears away. Wrench smiled as if about to laugh himself, but only a weak cough followed.

Something erupted in the distance.

"Alright..." Wrench said. "Time waits for nobody. Especially us, these days. Let's move."

Dice began putting Wrench's arm over his shoulder. Wrench could still be dragged to the plane. There might've been a medical bay. Perhaps Wrench's injuries weren't even as scathing as they seemed.

Wrench shook his head and pulled his arm away. His smile disappeared from his face. The last hint of color went with it. Wrench was gone. A lifeless husk took his place.

"No," Dice said, in a half whimper.

He shook Wrench. He pressed his ear to Wrench's face. Though, Dice knew he wouldn't find anything. He'd heard Wrench's last breath whisk out of him. Heard his life flicker away.

Dice's mind ran in a million different places. He focused on everything around him. He let his focus blur to nothing at all.

Two Clansmen stood behind him, accompanied by Vert himself. Dice wasn't ready. He couldn't let it end. It wasn't time.

It was all wrong. Fate... Chance... Things weren't directed by some unseen force. They just... were.

Then, weren't.

"It's time to go," a Clansmen said.

Vert didn't say anything. Though, Dice knew U.R.O's backup had already arrived. Another second wasted was the difference between death and freedom. That is, if there was a difference.

However, Dice's eyes remained on Wrench. His head pounded.

"Here," Matches said.

There was a gruff scrape. Matches held a gun in her hands. Cautiously, she placed it over Wrench's face. Dice scanned it over. The gun hardly covered Wrench and was studded with cruel scrapes and gouges.

It was perfect.

"Goodbye, stranger," Dice said, standing up.

He followed Vert to the aircraft. His feet were lead. Something tugged at him. The air burned his nostrils with an oily stench.

"No need to say goodbye just yet," Matches said. "Wrench still has one more round of spines in him."

Dice nodded.

The aircraft was only a meter away as Dice passed Knowles. Knowles was laid on the ground, moaning. His metal leg had been detached, and his flesh leg shot off. Dice foamed at the mouth. Wrench was dead. But, Knowles? He'd inevitably be wheeled into a government medical room, to be patched back into pristine condition.

Walking up the aircraft's ramp, Dice went nauseous.

"I'm sorry," Knowles said. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't mean to kill him. I thought that he was... Matches..."

Vert motioned for Dice to keep walking. There was a blast near the aircraft's nose. Pressure rose. However, Dice couldn't resist the urge to look back.

"An accident?" Dice said.

"I meant to shoot Matches," Knowles said. "I thought that Wrench was Matches. I swear."

"Wouldn't have made any difference."

"No... You don't understand. It wouldn't have mattered if I'd hit Matches."

Dice bit his lip. "It didn't matter when you hit me either, did it? Face it, Knowles: nobody matters to you."

"I know you… Your past... You think you're so clean? So innocent? I know better! You have the blood of thousands on your hands! And, you're going to spill blood again! It's inevitable!"

Dice paused. What did Knowles know? What dirt did he have. He shook his head. He knew nothing. He was just a desperate man, trying to throw Dice off his edge.

Sneering, Dice walked off.

People poured out of the aircraft's every pore. If not people, it was weedy pipes and leaking puffs of steam. Dice and Matches took a seat along iron bars built into the aircraft's ceiling.

What had Wrench's last thoughts been? Had he wanted them to keep moving to their goal? Did he care? Had he known just how much of a sacrifice he'd made?

Dice listened in on the purr of the engine. He peered out the window. The aircraft seemed to tuck and dip at each sound the engine made.

The sound grew. Turned unruly. Dice tightened his grip around his bar as the aircraft swung through air. An orb of light glared ahead of them, before bursting into sparks.

They were still being pursued.

Their aircraft weaved between skyscrapers and flew over buildings. Dice watched as surges of electricity leapt from the lip of their aircraft, picking away at the U.R.O's numbers. Finally, Vert walked from his place at the front of the plane, joining Matches and Dice.

"EMPs," he said, with a grin. "The U.R.O is too afraid to use them around civilian population. But, we don't play by the same rules as the U.RO... Anyway, no need to worry now. You're in good hands. Our Clansmen pilots are the best there are. Especially our current pilot. He's been observing U.R.O crafts for years. He actually coded their interfaces, before defecting and joining us."

Vert stared, awaiting a reaction. He flashed another grin and cleared his throat.

"All of the aircrafts are piloted by artificial intelligence," Vert said. "Normally, that would be an advantage. However, there have been several flaws deliberately placed in their programming. All that it takes is exploiting those flaws, and then hitting them with an electrical impulse — it takes them down every time."

Vert fell forward as the aircraft tremored.

"Yes!" he said with a cheer. "The last aircraft!"

Vert hung a hand in the air. Dice hung his eyes.

"Look," Vert said. "We're flying over the crown jewel of the U.R.O! Aren't the buildings just magnificent?"

Dice studied his palm. It was covered in bruises and cuts. How long had they been there?

"So..." Vert said. "That Wrench guy really must've mattered to you guys, didn't he? How long did you know him?"

"About a week, but it felt like I knew him for years..." Dice said. He looked up. "Hey, is there any way that this plane can go faster from the base?"

"Already going top speed," Vert said. He rested on a knee. "You know, I thought that he had a lot of potential. He was real tough. You could see that on his face. I wanted to recruit him for the Clan if we escaped. To be honest, I don't think that we could've escaped without him..."

"I think we still could've healed him from his injuries," Dice said. "He didn't need to die."

Vert's lips pursed, and he took a step back.

"Yes... Well..." Vert said. "Our medical team isn't the best. Besides: I don't think that even the best medics would've been able to save Wrench."

Vert looked into Dice's eyes. Dice looked away.

"Well, if either of you are interested in becoming official members of the Clan, just ask," Vert said, edging back toward the front of the jet. "I'll leave you two alone now. I think that you've earned that much."

Dice readjusted his position on the bar but felt nothing. Everything was numb. It left him with an uncanny feeling, as though he were missing a limb.

Matches patted Dice on the back and gave a weak smile.

"You want to play cards?" Matches asked. She pulled a box of cards out of her pocket. "I bet that I can beat you."

"I wouldn't bet on anything," Dice said, cracking his knuckles.

"Alright then... Let's play spines."

Dice's eyes widened.

"Maybe you can make a bet, after all. Deal them out."

Matches did. When she was done, there was a pile of random cards sitting at the center, a deck of cards in both Dice and Matches' hands, and a third deck of cards across from them... Abandoned.

Dice and Matches played quietly, diverting their eyes from the third deck as long as they could.

Chapter 23:

Dice slid off his bar. He stretched his arms out and winced. His back was killing him. His head throbbed and his stomach lurched. As he stepped over people, a jet of steam blasted into his face. Coughing, Dice covered his mouth and nose. It had been too long since he'd last breathed clean air. The aircraft's height didn't help matters. The world was a swirling blur.

"You notice that the engine was stalling out too?" Matches asked, from her spot on the bar.

Dice's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Matches smirked, sheepishly.

"It's probably nothing," she said.

Dice pressed his ear along the wall, honing on the putter of the engine. It sounded unusually weak. Though, was that just part of this aircraft's design? Was he being overly paranoid? Or, was it a sign? If only he'd monitored the engine during liftoff, to compare.

Dice pinched himself. He was slipping. They were flying in a glorified cage, riding with a group of people they didn't know, headed to potentially anywhere.

He needed to talk to Vert.

"Hey! Watch it!" somebody shouted.

Dice's foot recoiled from somebody's hand. He measured his next steps more carefully, only to stumble over three more people.

"Sorry! I'm very sorry!"

Regaining his balance, Dice gripped to the ceiling's iron bars. The aircraft shuddered. Dice's grip faltered and he hit the ground.

"A hero... and a hopeless klutz."

A hand clasped around his shoulder. Dice looked up. It was Vert.

"Thanks for coming over here," Dice said. "If I'd gone any further, I probably would've broken something."

"And I wouldn't have been able to do anything, because my medical team is garbage."

Vert chuckled, but there was a strain around his eyes. Dice looked around the aircraft. How many Clansmen were there?

How many had died from Omicron?

"Anyway, it was no problem Slice-and-Dice, really," Vert said, "I was already headed back here."

Dice scratched the back of his neck. "Oh. Well, in that case, I hope it wouldn't be any trouble if I talked to you about... See if... Could I ask you a question?" He gestured to the walls. "A question about all of this."

Vert nodded, his lips curling upward.

"Of course. I'm the guy with all the answers. I just have something quick I need to do — it'll only be a moment."

He raised a finger and cleared his throat. "Everybody, brace yourselves. We've just flown over the Mortimer District — the last district with 'human preservation' statutes. The Tyler District isn't far off. When we land we'll rendezvous with the Clan Chairwoman, Jackie Pierce, and the remaining members of the Clan. As you all know, we have to make a good impression there to pull our 'rebirth' off, so make sure to be on your best behavior."

Vert turned to Dice.

"Alright, fire away. What did you need to ask me?"

Dice's eyes were locked on the nose of the craft. The clouds rose past it, fading out of view. The craft was making its descent.

"I think you answered everything," Dice said, voice feeble.

"Great!" Vert said.

There was a warm, genial atmosphere about Vert. He carried it in his eyes. His shoulders. It reassured Dice, telling him there was a method to the madness.

Vert stepped onto a makeshift platform of loose pipes.

"If anybody has any questions, the best time to ask them is now," Vert said. "If not, we'll begin initiating our landing party."

Everybody was silent. Vert opened his mouth, preparing to move on.

"How many of us are there going to be at the Tyler District?" somebody asked.

Vert readjusted the collar of his shirt.

"Good question, yawn Manon," Vert said. "There are... A few other aircraft that made it out of the U.R.O base with us."

"That a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"Look at you — adept as ever. Asking all the big questions. Uh — I applaud the dent that we made in Omicron, but... I'd say that it was... Is there a more impressive word for 'failure'? Let me level with you: many Clansmen died. We're among the few who made it out alive. And, while I can't be sure on exact numbers, we seem to be the largest survivor group. Things aren't exactly where we want them to be."

A series of mutterings emerged. There was a clang as somebody kicked a wall. Several people raised their guns.

"Hey! Settle down! What we're not going to do is shrink our numbers even more!" Vert said, pushing a an unruly Clansmen away. "Look: I realize we're not in the most encouraging of circumstances. It's the exact opposite of... That. However, we need to keep our morale. We're the Clan. We just attacked Omicron and made it out alive! You can't go bigger than that! Nothing can stop us from fulfilling our goal!"

There was a series of cheers. Vert beamed.

"We're the premier surviving unit from Omicron," Vert continued. "I'm proud of you all. These announcements of mine? They're just to keep us on our toes. We have all sorts of people tailing us. People who have taken many of our fellow Clansmen. It's the little things that determine success or failure, comrades!"

Vert gave a firm nod and left for the cockpit. Dice scanned for Matches, before following after Vert. Matches would show back up, eventually.

"Slow the thrusters, but don't disable them entirely," Vert commanded. "We're already three times beyond recommended carrying capacity. We need to land this puppy smoothly."

Dice cleared his throat.

"As it turns out, I still have a few questions for you, Vert," Dice said.

Vert raised his hand at Dice and ran through a list of orders to a pilot. Finally, Vert turned back to stare Dice in the face.

"Alright, what do you want?" Vert asked.

Dice's throat went dry.

"I was just wondering what this stop at the Tyler District is all about," Dice said. "Weren't we supposed to be headed to the border of the Kelvin Union? To be honest, I have no idea what's going on. I and Matches are so lost."

Vert chuckled, and slapped Dice on the back. Rubbing where he'd been slapped, Dice grimaced.

"The Tyler District is a strong trading port," Vert said. "And, it has low monitoring by the U.R.O, so it makes the perfect place for outlaws like us to refuel, hang low for a while, and form strategies..."

"A while? How long will we be docked there?"

"Sometime between not-much-time and all-the-time," Vert asked. "Why? You got someplace to go?"

Dice nodded. "I'm hoping to get to the other side of the border. I need to get to the Kelvin Union."

Vert smiled.

"You're on the right ship then," he said. "Trust me: we'll get there. Maybe..."

Vert rubbed his hands, before shoving them in his pockets.

"To be honest with you, the Clan is pretty damn screwed. We've wanted to stay in the U.R.O and revive it. Bring it back to its former glory. But, we just can't. The U.R.O knows who we are, and they know how to infiltrate us. Waiting out in the Kelvin Union until things shift is our last hope — if we're not caught first."

Dice raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean by 'waiting it out' and 'reviving the U.R.O'? I know there are problems, but... It's not really governmental, so much as it's public unrest."

Vert let out a harsh laugh.

"You really believe that, don't you?" he said, piercing Dice's eye. "I'm glad you're curious, but trust me... There are things you don't know about the U.R.O. They aren't perfect, even if they used to be. Don't worry though: I'll try keeping you and Matches under my wing in the Tyler District. Show you the dirty underbelly. You haven't seen the chinks in the U.R.O's armor yet? Look a little harder. They're there."

As Dice went to retort, Vert put his hand over Dice's mouth.

"Listen to me: people walk the streets with no radials to their names. Robotic diseases are rampant. Real disease? Same thing. The economy has collapsed. We've lapsed into a secret war with the Kelvin Union. Robots are phasing us out. Like it or not, the U.R.O needs to be cleansed. I can only hope the day is coming soon."

Dice pretended to hear Vert. Then, he gave a firm handshake and returned to the back of the aircraft.

Everything Vert had said simply didn't compute. The U.R.O Dice knew wasn't as bleak as Vert made it out to be. It couldn't have been. Could it have?

Dice thought back to his time in the Monterey District. He thought back to Haynam's death. Wrench's death. He thought of the forlorn look on Professor Cassius' face.

His thoughts tunneled back to his nightmares. Being trapped in a claustrophobic room, struggling for air. Struggling for a way out. He shuddered.

"Everybody hang on tight!" Vert shouted from the cockpit.

The aircraft dipped. Dice's stomach turned to stone. He crumbled into somebody, then hit the ground. Shock seared through him and his body quaked as he tried lifting himself. He gripped onto a railing and steadied back onto his feet. He looked around — everybody else was already strapped down or hanging to a bar.

"Keep calm, everybody," Vert said. "We're in the middle of a somewhat rough descent. That's all."

Dice turned up his hearing aid and wasn't convinced. He could hear the engine grinding against itself. His eyes flitted from the window, and then to the floor. He couldn't watch.

"There you are!"

Stumbling over several people, Matches made her way to Dice's dismal spot. A few disgruntled shouts and snorts were left in Matches' wake, but Matches didn't stop to apologize.

"There weren't many places I could've gone," Dice said, teeth chattering. "I thought you knew I was going to talk to Vert."

"How? You didn't say anything."

"And I couldn't see you anywhere after I'd left, so I guess we're even," Dice retorted, stiffly.

"Uh... Alright then? Anyway, what did Vert have to say? Did you learn anything new?"

"I don't know... Have you been using your mental-abilities to learn anything new?"

Matches shrugged. "No. Not going to do that again unless I need to, after going into your —." She stopped and took in a deep breath. "They really need to add a new scent to this aircraft. It smells like melted iron, sweat, and death... with a hint of cinnamon. Didn't realize that there could be all four at once. In other news, I managed to get in touch with a few of the members of this Clan. Very interesting people, with a very interesting set of ideologies. This one person that I was talking to told me—."

"Quiet."

The hum of the engine stalled out. The floor let go of Dice's feet. His throat swelled. A dozen toothpicks pricked at the tips of his fingers.

Dice's feet slammed back on the floor as the engine slammed on.

"Sorry," Vert shouted. "Just a momentary hiccup in the engine. Nothing to be worried about."

Pressure nestled under Dice's scalp. Stars shone in the borders of his vision. Vert's words were worth nothing.

"If it's any consolidation, we're only about a minute away from the landing strip. Brace for impact, and wish our pilots luck."

That was worth something — if only he believed in luck.

Dice's bones rattled, turning his marrow to mash. Screams slashed at the air, shorting out the lights. Dice's lungs swelled again. This time, with smoke and steam. Dice clenched his teeth. The feeling of weightlessness could return at any moment.

The engine fell away. The floor remained in place.

"What the hell just happened?" somebody said.

"If we're placing bets, I think we died," Matches said.

Nervous chatters erupted, then cooled as Vert's voice washed through.

"We've landed," Vert said. A slight tremble was in his voice. "Just— just stay calm while we try to repair things."

A smack resounded as somebody landed a punch on a fellow Clansman. The attacker was swiftly tackled by several others, but this only prompted a new series of punching and kicking. Dice shrunk back and lowered his head.

The entire aircraft was preparing to implode when the lights flickered back on. The aircraft's ramp chattered, then lowered. Clamoring, the crowd rushed out. Dice squinted and counted the first wave.

Thirty-five and a half people — somebody had been trampled when halfway out the door.

The rush subsided. Dice continued to watch the spectacle. Matches stayed at his side, shaking her head.

"How much you want bet it's no better out there than it is in here?" Matches said. "Ah well... I suppose that nothing can be worse than being slammed against a wall in a sardine can, can it?"

Dice gave Matches a glare.

"You're right," Matches said, "with our odds, there's hardly a chance that things get better from here.

"You took the words right out of my mind..."

Vert and his comrades made their way out. Dice pushed Matches aside, and limped after them.

Dice soaked in the dazzling rays of sunlight. They'd landed in a cramped, fenced-in hangar — if it could've been called a "landing". The nose of their aircraft was smashed inward, its wings were bent, and its U.R.O seals were torn off entirely.

"We've arrived at the Tyler District!" Vert said to the Clansmen.

They ignored him, continuing to shoved past each other and claw for a way of escape.

"In its full glory, no less..." Matches said.

"I was wrong — it's at least better than being in the aircraft," Dice said.

Matches smirked. "But the aircraft is empty now."

Shrieking, a cluster of Clansmen fled from the fence. A charred body laid at its edge. Bolts of electricity flew from the fence's tips.

Vert pushed through the crowd of Clansmen, making his way to the fence. Webs of energy glowered over him, but Vert's eyes were resolute.

"Let us in," Vert ordered. "We're a Clan ship."

There was no response.

"This is head-coordinator of the Clan, Vert Salus. If you don't open your doors, I'll take this to our Clan Chairwoman."

The aircraft pad lowered, taking the crashed aircraft out of sight. A low grunt emerged from the other side of the fence. The fence's electricity dissipated, a section of the fence opening in front of Vert.

"Open sesame!" Vert said. He turned, motioning at the Clan. "Alright people, we need to get going. Matches. Dice. You stay with me."

"What are they doing with the plane?" Matches asked.

"Storing it in a temporary garage, until they can get a robot to fly it to one of the main hangar towers," Vert said. "If they can get it to fly, that is..."

"You get valet parking here?"

"Almost. Except here, the valet is free."

Dice and Matches kept close behind Vert as they exited the hangar. Dice soon wished he'd stayed at the back. Everybody was clamoring to get ahead, and Dice's heartrate rose as people pushed past him. He'd weaved through many rushing crowds. He'd never seen one as mad as this.

It didn't help that the hangar led into a narrow alleyway, built of fastened iron. Dice coughed and tried wafting away clouds of dust. Glancing at streaks of rust on the walls, Dice questioned the age of the Tyler District. For a place of such supposed commerce, it should've been pristine.

Dice's eyes raised to the sky. Rows of slums towered over them and littered the skyline. Each one was a papier-mâché of compacted trash and scrap metal, welded into makeshift boxes. There were hundreds of them, all crammed into random clumps. Dice marveled at the chaos of it all.

Their alleyway fed into a pocket of rooftops, walled in by more rows of slums. Ruffle metal bowed and crackled beneath his feet. Yet, swaths of people surrounded him, streaming from neighboring alleyways and toward flimsy trade stands built into the roofs.

The Tyler District was a festering mess. What if the Clan splintered apart, among the crowd? What if he lost track of the Clan?

A man in rags yanked at Dice. As Dice ripped his arm away, there was a sharp tear. Dice looked at his arm to find a fresh hole in his bodysuit — only one among many.

"Hey, out of the way!"

Dice was shunted by a group of people. Stepping out of their path, he snorted. The place was busier than even the underground of the Gordon District had been. Eyeing the vendors, Dice found one selling illegal guns. Another was selling what looked to be a stockpile of stimulators. Yet another was selling makeshift bionic enhancements.

Dice looked back down the alleyway he'd entered through. Maybe he should've headed back.

"Hey, look at that," Matches said, coming at Dice's side. "They're selling age extensions here. Maybe I should try one of those."

Vert chuckled. How could he possibly chuckle? There was pile after pile of unregulated, illegal technology. Anybody could take it. Who was to stop it from getting into the wrong hands? Where was the U.R.O?

Vert stopped in front of them and glanced at his wrist-pad. After smacking it a few times, he turned to embrace his Clansmen.

"I'm sure you're all enjoying yourselves in this marketplace," said Vert. "And I have a special meeting with Jackie Pierce, and the other head-coordinators. We'll reunite to begin our 'rebirth' in the coming hours. In the meantime, have fun and explore — just keep checking your wrist communicators, and you should be fine."

The group scattered, their prattle scattering with them.

"Matches? Dice? You stay with me."

Vert started walking. Dice trailed behind, but his eyes fell astray to a towering slum in the horizon. It stretched far above the rest, nearly scraping the clouds. It was crude, and unnatural. Yet, it felt so right.

"This has to be one of the strangest places that I've seen," Dice said, gesturing toward the buildings.

Matches chuckled.

"You say that at every district we go to," she said. "Haven't been that far outside of the Monterey District, have you?"

"Nobody that lives in the Monterey District strays too far from the Monterey District. Not usually, anyway... The place is big enough as it is."

"Can't argue there."

Dice rubbed his nose. For a moment, he thought that he could smell the smoke of the calculator cage. The burning, lemony scent of the MDPD. In the corner of his eye, there was a glare — just like the one he'd used to see over the old computing center. While he didn't want to admit it, some part of himself missed the Monterey District. He'd never made any friends there, but it had been a friend to him. Family, even. Now it was gone.

"Tongue tied?" Matches asked, after Dice had taken a prolonged pause.

Dice shook his head.

"No, just thinking," he said. "Look at those slums up there. They're pretty shabby, even if I've seen shabbier looking places at this point... But it's also beautiful, isn't it? The fact that people were able to build wherever, whenever needed? Create their own world, to their liking?"

Matches opened her mouth to speak. Though, as she followed Dice's gaze and studied the slums, her mouth closed. Finally, Vert gave a laugh.

"If it seems complex, it's because it was designed by robots," Vert said. "The whole damn place is. That's why it isn't terribly efficient for us, and why there are so many winding passageways throughout it."

Dice's eyes widened. The intricacies of the design all made sense now. Yet — it made no sense. It had been created by an intelligence far beyond his own.

Vert led them into another alleyway. Jagged spikes fed throughout it, and its ceiling was only a few inches above Dice's head. Yet, Dice found a sort of security in it. Only one direction in, and one direction out.

"Ouch," Matches said, pulling her foot from one of the spikes. "What were the designers thinking? Did they want to kill my feet?"

Vert shook his head.

"Power tracks," Vert said. "They easily reenergize robots that drive over them and make for easy transportation. In addition, they also make a nice blockade between the domain of humans, and the domain of robots."

Matches smirked. Vert returned it with a grim look. As they continued, Vert's posture slumped, and his head darted back and forth. Dice surveyed the area for what Vert may have been afraid of. Though, the alleyway was empty.

They reached the end of the alleyway and entered another pocket. It was less than half the size of the one that they'd left. Though, it was far more streamlined. The ground was a sturdy concrete and crowded with winding towers. Slums were absent, replaced by compact, interlocking tower structures. As Dice studied the towers, he found they turned to a winding maze of metal coves. He squinted as their lights glared.

"Really could've used a pair of Wrench's special goggles," Matches said.

Dice went to nod, but the muscles in his neck stiffened at Wrench's name. He rubbed his eyes and directed them toward the ground.

There was a thrum. Dice jumped out of the way, while a blur whipped past him. A robot. It was gone before Dice could even determine its engine.

The robot was followed by a swarm. Dice shielded his face. There'd been no need. The robots flew ound Dice with ease, their movements so seamless it were as if he wasn't there. Eyes straining to find focus, Dice gleaned as much as he could. His forehead matted. None of the robots matched the specialized machinations he'd seen Monterey District. Rather, they had minimalistic designs, only possessing wheels, limbs, boosters, and high-grade quantum processors. Dice ogled at one of the processors — it couldn't have been any lower than the tenth grade.

"I've never seen so many robots in one place," he said, with a mix of wonder and disgust.

As Dice moved forward, there wasn't a centimeter of wasted space. Robots roved all over, trading, scanning, building, and computing. An envy rose in Dice's chest as he struggled to keep up. It had been too long since he'd tested his mettle against an A.I system, let alone one that was up-to-date. What if he was hilariously behind?

Vert shot a knowing smile back at Dice.

"Agreed, Slice-and-Dice," Vert said, with a pant. "It almost feels like there are far too many, doesn't it?"

Dice passed an assembly line of robots. They all worked in sync, developing some sort of super-generator. They weren't just efficient. They were scarily efficient.

Vert led them up a structure's spiral stairwell. As they ascended, Dice fought to hold in the acid filling his throat.

"The Tyler District: a city built by robots, for robots," Vert said. "Only a hop and a skip away from Omicron, at that. How? A few years back, the robots managed to repeal 'human preservation' statutes. You might like to think that cities like this are sparse. Though, you'd be wrong. They're everywhere in this part of the U.R.O, and they're only spreading."

Dice leaned against the winding wall, his eyes closed. He tried directing his thoughts away from a growing breeze. From the fact of how far away from home he really was.

"It is a beauty though, isn't it?" Dice said. "The fact that they were able to design everything to be so complex? I can only imagine how this culture works. It's fast — even for me."

Vert scoffed.

"'Beauty' is one word for it," he said. "The place works well, alright. For them. But, I'd hesitate to call the beggars from that other square 'beauties' — no offense to the ugly beggars. These robots... They don't care about us. They've cut themselves off from the people. What matters most doesn't matter at all to them."

"Radials?" Matches said, with a smirk on her face.

"The thing that matters the second most."

"Fame?"

"I was going to say family. But, close enough."

Vert's words hung over Dice's head. Everything was smooth. Pristine. Yet, at what cost?

The stairwell thinned out. The air did as well. A filmy layer of smog took place of the clean, filtered air from below. It tore at Dice's throat. He buried his mouth in his elbow and tried smothering his coughs and discomfort. Light from thin lampposts assailed Dice's face. His body trembled, and his face burned. Dice tried burying deeper, when Vert cast him a sidelong glance.

"Too much for you, already?" Vert said, once they'd reached a dead-end. "We still have round two."

Their stairwell ran off into a cliff. The roof was just a few meters above them, but Dice hardly paid it notice. His eyes were fixed beneath the cliff. A maze of lights and flying bots was fifty meters below. As he tried to look away, the maze warped and flashed.

"They definitely didn't build this with humans in mind," Dice said, slurring his words. A pool of saliva flooded his mouth.

"Yeah, they... They definitely didn't make it pretty either," Vert said, craning his neck over the cliff.

There'd been a tinge of discomfort in his voice. Though, what did he have to be afraid of?

Vert whistled. The whistle pattered down the cliff in a soft echo. Once it'd died to silence, Matches jokingly whistled back. However, her echo was stunted as a robot glided down and made a piercing beep. Slats slid from the wall, creating a clean trail to the platform. Vert walked up them. Dice begrudgingly followed. The wind lashed at his face, and world below him groaned. It was so distant, yet somehow still kept grip to his chest. He only hoped it wouldn't manage to pull him down.

"We predicted your arrival," the robot said, its voice grinding.

"And I predicted yours, rust bucket," Vert said, dryly.

"Your Clan has been plastered on quite a few information highways... You're figures of controversy, to say the least."

"What's it to you?" said Vert. His voice had gone soft, but he kept his strides hadn't slowed. He'd already made his way up to the roof.

Clouds wafted by Dice's head. Or, was it smoke? He choked and leaned onto Matches as it penetrated his lungs.

"I know they're literally drones, but you can't sleep just yet," Matches said.

"Me? Asleep? Never. I'm just... Just resting my eyes."

Matches smirked.

"Is that a joke I hear, Dice Raymond?"

Dice shrugged and took a deep breath of the smog. He shuddered.

"Maybe," he said. "This air must be going to my head."

Dice stepped onto the roof. His vision was blurred, and the smoke didn't help. Though, the roof was covered in generators, energy robots, and aircraft. Dice eyed a robot pulling a fluorescent cylinder from a conveyor belt. An energy pack? How could they produce an energy pack, in this environment?

Vert grabbed Dice by the arm and pulled him away. Dice's leg seethed as he tried to keep up. There was a pyramid just up ahead, with an electric rod jutting out of its top. Were they on a signal tower? He stopped to take a closer look but slid away as somebody pushed him from behind.

"Move it! Some of us only have so much time to kill!"

Dice shuffled ahead, and turned to Matches for support. Matches had disappeared. Whipping his head around, Dice saw that Matches had already made her way up to Vert. A robot hovered next to them, guiding toward the pyramid.

"You can't just leave me behind!" Dice shouted after them. "I have no idea where we are."

Matches didn't say a word. A harsh buzzing sound emanated from the robot at her side.

"We have a lot to discuss today," the robot said.

"I appreciate the info," said Vert. "Because, it isn't like the meeting we arranged two weeks ago didn't tip us off... You robots are so perceptive."

Vert snickered under his breath, but the robot gave a genuine thank you. Vert didn't pay notice.

"Have any Clan coordinators arrived yet?" asked Vert. "We'll need to be fully grouped before we can begin discussions."

The robot gave a guttural scrape.

"Negative," it said. "Only two other members of your Clan have arrived, out of a total of seven."

"Sounds like a fun wait," Vert said.

"At least you have this robot to keep you company," said Matches.

"At least there's that."

Dice sped his pace, before skidding to a halt as he reached the pyramid's glass door. He looked for a handle. Nothing. There wasn't even a scanner.

Dice jumped as a cap opened in the robot's chest, followed by a metal rod. A mop of several wires in the rod's tip swung back and forth, before attaching to the glass and climbing up its side. Once they'd gripped around a ridge in the glass, the door rumbled. It folded onto the ground, creating a carpet.

"After you," the robot warbled.

Dice stood still, watching the robot. Who was supposed to go first? Had it been talking to him? Dice waited for a sign. Vert coughed behind him.

Dice walked over the door, and into the pyramid. The glass was soft but firm, compressing slightly under his feet. Dice went to study exactly how the glass was comprised, but his attention was diverted by the architecture of the pyramid's interior. It was elegant in every—.

Dice's breath stopped short as a cold arm wrapped around his neck, yanking him back.

"I wasn't speaking to you."

It was the robot. Dice wanted to glare into its dead eyes but stopped as his face turned red. He turned away, keeping his head down.

"Please excuse my friend's terrible form. He has trouble following executive... Executive command stems," Vert said, catching the right words just as they were tipping off his tongue. "It won't happen again."

The robot rattled as it prepared to give a response.

"Who the hell is your 'friend' anyway?" somebody interrupted.

Eyes flitting to the doorway, Vert flashed a diamond grin.

A woman stood in the doorway. She was dressed in a cheap bodysuit that looked to have been worn ragged but was decorated in dozens of badges. She clearly outranked Vert. Yet, she looked several years younger.

"Speaking of friends," she said, "Thank god you're alive."

"Jackie!" Vert said, running through the doorway. "It's about damn time I saw you!"

Vert went to give her a hug. Jackie gave one begrudgingly, before stepping away and brushing herself off.

"The rest of you may now enter," the robot instructed.

Everybody had already entered.

Chapter 24:

"I thought your stupid plan had gotten you killed!" Jackie said. "All of the reports told us your unit was downed by a U.R.O missile. Are you a dead man walking?"

Vert laughed and gestured to Dice and Matches.

"A bit more complicated than that," he said. "Let's just say that my 'stupid plan' didn't go as planned at all... But, I don't think that I could be happier about that."

Jackie's eyes changed from cheery to somber as she looked over Dice. Then, Matches. Dice squirmed while a crowd of robots filtered past him. He desperately wanted to dip into the crowd and disappear. Instead, he was forced to study Jackie.

Her face was lined from intense scowls. There was heavy scarring on her forehead. Dice rested his hand on his chin. Why hadn't she replaced the scars with clean tissue?

Jackie frowned at Dice, then parted away the hair obscuring her scar, making it more prominent. Dice's eyes lit up. He had his answer. Jackie was proud of the scar. Proud of her intensity.

"Who are these people, again?" Jackie asked. "I thought I gave direct orders that all Clansmen were to be directed to the commerce circuits. This meeting is exclusive to the seven head-coordinators, and myself."

Vert played with his hands and sputtered.

"I — I thought I should bring them along," he said. "They're not Clansmen yet — I ran into them during the siege of Omicron. We need to initiate them. In the meantime, they can replace the two Coordinators we lost."

Jackie drew herself up and squinted her eyes.

"You found random people, and assimilated them into your group?"

Vert fidgeted.

"Trust me: they proved themselves."

Jackie kept squinting, before finally shrugging her shoulders and turning away.

"Alright then. We have more pressing matters to deal with right now."

"When can we get them initiated?" Vert trailed after Jackie.

"We can discuss that later. Right now? We have a debate to prepare for. I have several notes that I need to go over with you..."

Jackie's voice fell to a hush as she listed things off, before fading away entirely. Dice was compelled to follow, but his legs were frozen.

"We just going to stand around here?" Matches asked. "Let's go."

Dice wanted to speak but was mesmerized by a cloud of robots drifting under a window of the pyramid, with holographic computers projecting out of their chests. They must've been conducting the affairs of the city. Filtering through every element. Resolving every flaw.

They blotted out most of the sunlight from view. A flaw in their programming? Dice's eyes narrowed. The robots were covered in solar panels.

His eyes returned to Matches.

"I—," he began.

He couldn't help but jump to the corner of his eye. They were standing in a ring, overhanging a foyer. Hover platforms rose in front of him, then descended back down. Dozens of robots hopped on and off.

What was the platforms' weight limit? One of them teetered as it rose to their level. It didn't have rail guards. Dice flinched — if only there were a safer mode of transportation. A mass of robots darted below, freely.

Trying to count them all, Dice became lost. Whatever happened to robots only living in caves, and forgotten corners? Perhaps he should've stayed in the trade center. Perhaps—.

"Dice?" Matches asked. "Do you want to follow Vert, or not?"

Dice trudged toward the platform.

"So, that's a yes then? You look like a ghost, Dice. Cheer up."

Dice ran his hand through his hair. His gaze followed a platform's descent, before falling into the floor. He couldn't bring himself any closer to the edge.

"You've never ridden on a hover platform before, have you?" asked Matches, patting Dice on the back. "Don't worry. I'm sure we could just get one of these robots to —."

"No, no," Dice said, stepping forward. He bit his lip. The last thing he needed was to be coddled by a robot. "I've ridden these before. I'm fine."

As the platform came back to their level, Dice shrunk back. Matches pushed him forward. The platform swayed. Keeping a firm grip around Dice, Matches helped them regain their balance.

"Sorry," Dice said, clearing his throat. "I'm just a little rusty. That's all."

He pulled away from Matches and brushed himself off, causing the platform to rock. He ignored it. The ride was almost over, with them having already dropped ten meters. There were other things to worry about.

Dice stepped off the platform. Heat, emanating from robotic engines, enveloped around him. He cringed in pain as a robot rammed into his arm. The foyer seemed smaller and more claustrophobic than it'd looked from above, but its buzz was still as intense.

"You're welcome for the help," Matches said.

"Didn't need any."

Matches gave a wry smile. "Sure… Would it kill you to admit a little weakness?"

"I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Matches' face tightened into a scowl. Dice pushed past her, and into a line of robots. The robots moved in a near-perfect unison. Their voices worked as one. Their bodies looked like one. Their minds probably were.

Making his way across the foyer and toward a metal archway, his steps slowed. The crowd of robots thickened, obscuring the pearl floor entirely from view. Dice's neck strained as he attempted to peer over the mechanical mass.

"Hey! There you are! You guys can come up here! I saved you a seat!"

Vert's head poked over the crowd of robots. "Move it, rust-buckets."

He clapped his hands. The metal sea parted, creating a clear pathway toward Vert. Dice squinted. Vert sat in a row of ten pearl chairs, molded into the floor. He was accompanied by Jackie, and several other Clan coordinators.

Dice stepped from out from the crowd, and into the pathway. His back stiffened. Hundreds of robotic eyes rested on him. A clank resounded as Matches stepped out from the crowd and back at his side.

"Don't mind us," Dice said, brushing against a few robots. "Excuse us."

Matches took a seat to the far right. Dice took a seat to the far left, between Vert and Jackie. A chill ran up Dice's spine as he settled in. It had a clammy texture, and several of its garnishes jutted into his back.

"I like sitting and doing nothing as much as the next person — especially in front of a crowd," said Matches, eyes ballooning as they stared into the robots. "But, what are we doing here, exactly?"

"Just smile, and wave," said Vert. "Oh, also — we're talking to the giant robot, so we're going to need you to... not talk. Like, at all."

"The giant wha—?"

"I think I'm right in saying that we're all here now?" said Jackie. She turned her head to each side, summoning nods from the coordinators.

"Let's get this shebang started!" said Vert.

The metal archway bent and churned. A spindly tube shot out of it. Steam followed, as layers of metal fed out from the archway and compounded on the tube. Finally, a hologram flickered at the tube's end — a face. At least, something like it.

The unearthly visage hovered over them, its sharp green eyes vigilant. Dice listened for the slightest sound to expose the machine’s innerworkings. There was only the breath of steam.

"It's a looker, isn't it?" Vert whistled. Vert grinned at Dice, but there was a quiver in Vert's lip.

"Where are the rest of your coordinators?" the robot asked.

Jackie wrapped an arm around Dice. Dice tried pulling away, but Jackie only drew him in closer.

"Mel Traeger, and Alberta Pine? They couldn't make it, on account of being dead," Vert said.

Jackie shot Vert a look.

"They died in action, during our raid on Omicron," she said, puffing herself up. "However, we brought two replacements: Dice, and Matches."

The robot's face floated to look at them, before returning to Jackie.

"No last names?" the robot asked.

Jackie shook her head.

"See to it that there are no more flaws as you conduct this interview," the robot said. "We have little time for mistakes in the Tyler District."

Jackie nodded, and cleared her throat.

"Understood, Prime Terminal," she said. "Now, if it doesn't displease you, we're ready to begin our discourse."

Prime Terminal's eyes blacked out, its face edging closer to Jackie's. Dice thought he heard a slight creak in its joints, but it was too fleeting for certainty.

"As I understand it, your group is requesting temporary refuge and fuel from us. However, our records indicate your Clansmen have been more trouble than usual, as of late — raiding the U.R.O's major bases, and causing havoc among the populace. Specifically, populaces with an abundance of robots. Is this the case?"

Jackie smirked.

"Yes. I'd hope you'd already known. That's the sole purpose of the Clan. We cleanse places that need cleansing."

The floor rumbled as fire streamed down the Prime Terminal's sides. Limbs going numb, Dice turned down his hearing aid. His heart fluttered. His posture faltered.

"You continue to openly defy the U.R.O?" Prime Terminal asked.

Its voice spilled out as icy water. A cold sweat cascaded down Dice's forehead.

"Yes," Jackie said. "We've hit all of the major districts, and our sphere of influence is only going to increase."

The foyer fell subject to anxious clicks and cranks. Prime Terminal's processor must've run thousands of times faster than Dice's own mind — what was it thinking?

"Aren't you impressed?" Vert finally asked. "Every district we've hit instated new laws, to accommodate our demands. There's no other group in the U.R.O quite as effective as us at what we do."

A high-pitched grating fled from the Prime Terminal's bowels. Even with his hearing aid, Dice felt his ears go through a blender.

"Impressed is an insufficient term," Prime Terminal said. "Your motives are honorable, if zealous. Your effectiveness is even harder to dismiss. Though, I am hesitant to support the Clan. The Tyler District believes in peaceful protest, not aggression."

Jackie's smile faded from her face, and she gave a stern glare.

"I'm... I'm gladdened by the fact that you can recognize our prominence," she said. "We worked hard to get where we are — and we won't give up before we've gone the last step. The Clan's goal is the same as your own: to make a difference, which will lead to the betterment of the U.R.O. An alliance between the Clan and the Tyler District, even if brief, would leave a mark on history."

"How can we trust that you will not turn on us, like you have for so many others?" Prime Terminal asked. "Our goals, while similar, are misaligned. I am sure you have heard rumors that our District has been producing dark matter engines — and, those rumors are correct. Our community's eyes are not set on Earth, but the stars. We aim to become interplanetary, like you humans have tried and failed at so many times — and, we cannot afford the risk of sabotage."

"Don't worry. We come only with peaceful intent."

Jackie swiveled her head and gave a motion down the line. Dice's eyes followed Jackie's, falling on a man who'd stood from his chair. He wore a well-groomed uniform and put his perfect teeth on full display.

"I'm Kevin Sine, head coordinator of the Clan's resources sector," he said. "I concur with Clan Chairwoman, Jackie Pierce. Question our methods if you like, but we make more impact on the U.R.O than the Senate. More impact than you. How can you trust that you have our loyalty? We need your aid — our aircrafts are dangerously low on fuel, our food reserves are practically nonexistent, and there isn't anywhere else we can replenish. Any acts of aggression against your fine district would be suicide."

Sine's plastic grin remained on his face, even as his nose twitched and eyelids flickered.

Dice readjusted in his seat, before bumping into Vert. This felt all wrong. They were in foreign territory, under the thumb of a culture far more hostile than any other he'd seen.

"I know we're asking for a lot, but we'll compensate you in the future," Vert said. "We don't even need star treatment — just stick us in your storehouses. We can use your defective energy packets and consume your scraps. That's all we need to sustain us."

Prime Terminal fizzed, and turned to face Vert.

"We do not keep our low-quality fuel and food in storehouses," Prime Terminal said. "They are deep inside abandoned pipes and tunnels, below us. Not exactly a favorable situation."

Vert shrugged, pretending to be undeterred. However, his fingers danced along his armrest, tensely

"That's fine, prince pixel," Vert said. "We just need the resources — doesn't matter how we get them. Besides, as I understand it, your supply of food and energy is unregulated by the U.R.O. It wouldn't hurt if we shrunk of that surplus supply, rather than reporting it to the U.R.O, now could it?"

Prime Terminal emitted a shrill beep, but Vert remained unwavering.

"Please," he said, staring up at the robot. "I've fought tooth and nail for what I believe. Probably harder than anybody here. You'll be hard-pressed to find another force capable of Omicron, alive. You believe in us. The grounds of our proposal. And, we need help. This decision should be a cakewalk."

"Except, I do not believe in you, or your proposal."

Prime Terminal's words cut through Dice. The row of Coordinators went up in disgruntled moans and shouts.

"What do you mean?" Sine said. "Haven't we more than proven our mettle?"

"Agreed," said Jackie. "What we're offering is not unreasonable."

"It is not reasonable either," said Prime Terminal. "Your Clan's crusade is subject to much controversy throughout the U.R.O. You are worse than the recent plague of parasite bots. Do you wish me to speak on the unspeakable atrocities you've committed?"

Jackie laughed.

"Atrocities?" she asked, dumbfounded. "What happened to robots being objectivists? Clearly, you've been taken in by unsubstantiated rumors, conjured by U.R.O propagandists. Let me assure you: the force we use has always been justified. Our sole goal is overthrowing tyranny and backwards thinking."

A group of robots inched closer to their line, off in the corner of Dice's eye.

"We cling to 'unsubstantiated rumors'?" Prime Terminal asked. "Is that an insult?"

Vert shook his head.

"Not an insult. Just a fact. You people — robots — enjoy facts, don't you?"

"It depends on how you define them."

"Good," Jackie said, pursing her lips. "I put my case out there. Now, will you provide us resources, or not?"

Prime Terminal's face was replaced by a hologram of fire.

"I have already made my position clear," it said. "Associating with you comes with consequences, whether the rumors are true. You have picked a fight with the U.R.O — an establishment we deeply respect — and, as we both know, picking a fight with the U.R.O rarely ends well. Here in the Tyler District, we carefully measure every action we take and don't meddle with chance. Furthermore, if the rumors are true? I could never forgive myself for helping you."

A scowl lined Jackie's brow, but she managed a smile.

"They're not true," she said.

Standing from her chair, she prepared to leave. The Clan Coordinators were livid, but Jackie seemed deaf to them. Though, as she went to step off the archway, she pivoted back to Prime Terminal. There was an empty glint in her eye, as if she'd forgotten something. However, her movements had been too fluid — it must've been rehearsed.

"It's a shame you're unwilling to supply us with resources," said Jackie. "Though, we'll be generous nonetheless: we won't inform the U.R.O of them."

"Much appreciated," said Prime Terminal. "I apologize on the outcome, but it is the only logical decision."

"Very well," said Jackie. "We'll look into help from other districts. However, I do have one request... All the Clan is exhausted. Could you, at the very least, give us some place to sleep tonight?"

Prime Terminal shook its head.

"Giving you a meeting was already generous enough," it said. "You have three hours to gather your Clansmen and leave.

Jackie shrugged. A knowing glimmer clung to her eye.

"Don't you despise the U.R.O and all their unnecessary regulations though?" she asked.

Prime Terminal shook its head profusely.

"Despite what is said about them, we are quite proud of this country," it said. "Could we have created a society like this without their aid?"

"And yet, just on the other side of this border lies the Kelvin Union — a haven, far more receptive to your kind," said Jackie. "I know the Clan has hurt robotic rights... But, we can change that. Wouldn't you prefer to finally reach a place where you're beyond the rest of us humans, and can expand... Unregulated? All I'm asking for is a place to sleep."

There was an extended silence. This time, however, Dice realized Prime Terminal wasn't bluffing. Its eyes flared. It was considering Jackie's proposal.

"You have a solid argument," Prime Terminal said. "I don't support the Kelvin Union, but I sympathize with some of their viewpoints. Robots have been held back for too long."

Jackie gave a thin smile.

"Does that mean you might consider giving us the fuel reserves, after all?"

A clicking formed in the back of Prime Terminal's throat, reverberating throughout the foyer.

"No," said Prime Terminal. "Quite ridiculous. However, I am willing to accommodate you for the night. I am sure we have extra room in the pipe levels. What you have said at this meeting changed my perspective. Perhaps your Clan is not as malicious as we have been led to believe."

Another series of clicks came from the Prime Terminal. The robots throughout the foyer reciprocated the clicks, before ascending to the ceiling in impeccable precision.

"Meeting adjourned," said Prime Terminal. "You'll be escorted to the subterranean levels shortly. In the meantime, exit the House and regroup with your Clansmen."

Prime Terminal folded back up into its archway, its words ricocheting along the walls. Yet, nobody moved. Dice tried catching the eyes of the Coordinators, to measure their weight of disappointment. Though, all their eyes were locked to the ground.

"You heard it," Jackie finally said, breaking the silence. "Let's get going and reunite with our groups."

As the Coordinators filtered out, the sound of shuffling feet was drowned out by moans and grumbles.

"I had a twelve-point argument laid out," one of them said.

"You think you have it bad, Samantha?" said another. "The presentation I prepared was supposed to run a full hour. That meeting couldn't have more than thirty minutes."

Dice took a glance at Jackie and saw the ghost of a smirk resting on her face. Her stride was confident and self-assured. It made no sense.

"Calm down, everybody," Jackie said. "At least we have access to the subterranean levels now. That's what mattered most."

"Am I the only one who's glad we weren't trapped in there for hours?" Vert chuckled.

Matches shook her head. "I don't think I've seen a meeting go so terribly before."

Jackie shrugged.

"Who are these people again?" she whispered into Vert's ear.

Vert cast a furtive glance at Dice and Matches.

"They helped save my life, remember?" Vert said, with a nervous laugh. "We really should initiate them soon, by the way."

Vert's voice trailed off after that. Dice tried reading Vert's lips, but Vert kept his head turned away. Dice turned up his hearing aid. He only managed to catch the words, "...are worthy additions to the Clan, before we take the risk."

Dice couldn't tell if it'd been Vert or Jackie. What did the words even mean? As potential meanings ate away at him, Dice drowned in regret. If only he could just forget.

Vert pulled away from Jackie's ear and they forked apart.

"You two love-birds done whispering yet?" Matches asked.

"Sorry," Vert said, backpedaling between Dice and Matches, and giving a sheepish grin. "We just had business to discuss."

Vert smelled like Jackie now. Soapy, dry, and stale. Vert's confidence had also waned, with only the skeleton remaining. Vert flashed smiles at Coordinators as he walked down the strip, but there was a self-conscious questioning in the corners of his lips. This anxiety bled into Vert's hands and breathing.

Robots flew overhead. Trails of sparks and fireworks ran behind them, to lead Clan Coordinators to an exit. Yet, Vert opted to descend back down the dizzying heights of the pillar.

Metal plates creaking beneath his feet, Dice could sense the entire structure giving away. A shout creeped up his throat. Yet, upon glancing at Vert, Dice buried the fear. There was a curtain of secrecy over Vert's eyes. Could he really be trusted?

"Watch your step," Vert said, sternly. "We’re up really high, and I knew somebody who fell off these before. Let's just say, it didn't end pretty."

Dice's eyes narrowed. Did Vert already know about his fear of heights? How much else might he know? What was he keeping bottled? Would it ever leak out?

"Shouldn't we be following after the rest of the Clansmen?" Matches finally asked.

"I need to recollect my group," said Vert.

"Aren't the rest of the Coordinators just sending out homing signals?"

Vert jumped over a gap in the metal stairway and let out a laugh.

"That's a good point," he said. "But... In this place, I'm not entirely confident in the abilities of technology. Call me paranoid. I'd rather go there on my own terms."

Matches rolled her eyes and turned around.

"Good for you then. I'm headed back."

Vert shook his head and squeezed Matches shoulder.

"At this point, the Coordinators are already gone. Besides: they're pretty antsy, and uptight. I'm sure you'd much rather stick with me."

"Yeah... I'm not in the mood to follow you throughout this city, gathering up your missing sheep. Just tell me how to get to the subterranean levels."

"No can do. You're just going to have to get in the mood."

Vert smiled and threw a playful punch. Despite his smile, his pupils remained firm. Vert cast a look at Dice, and his smile faded entirely

"Anyway, it's too easy to get lost if you're going on your own," Vert forced laugh as he let go of Matches' shoulder. "You'd just be losing time."

"As if you know this place any better than me."

"Trust me: I do. I've studied every centimeter for longer than you can imagine. Besides, you're safest with me. It's surprisingly... dangerous in this place."

Chapter 25:

"Is it just me, or were there way less people when we were all crammed in that aircraft?" Matches asked.

She gestured to the stream of people gathered behind them.

Dice was shocked by the number himself. Though, more shocking was the group’s demeanor. They followed Vert's instructions promptly, and without question. Their steps moved in unison. The same smile was spread along all their faces. Dice scrunched his eyebrows. They couldn't have been the same people from the aircraft, could they?

Vert snickered. "I feel the opposite. This group is finally altogether, working as a unit again — and I was one of those fat cats sitting in the front of the aircraft, where everything was spacious."

He paused to look over his group. His hands rested on his sides, and his face beamed with pride.

"I agree with Vert," Dice said, eyeing Matches. "This group was a zoo earlier."

He'd expected to see Matches flare with anger. Instead, it was Vert's.

"It wasn't awful," Dice said, trying to backtrack. "It's simply that this group was impossible to navigate when we first exited the aircraft. They were clearly out of their element."

"It wasn't their fault," Vert said, scowling at Dice. "We'd hardly escaped the hand of death itself. And, it'd looked as though our mission was about to fail. Now though? Things are looking up. Our plan is actually succeeding."

Matches snorted, and Dice felt the urge to roll his eyes.

"I wouldn't exactly say that things are going as planned," Dice said.

"You don't know the plan," Vert said, with a smug grin on his face. "You're not initiated yet."

He pushed past Dice and let out a guttural shout.

"We've nearly arrived at our destination!" he said. "Look alive, comrades. We need to make a good impression on our hosts."

Their group was tucked in the corner of a barren metal wall, with no host in sight. The robots bustled far above them all. The only sign of use in their corner were dull scratches in the ground, and the hot breath of a computing tower's fan beating down on them.

Uncertain chatters flooded the air. Dice nudged Matches, then followed Vert as he walked closer to the wall.

"You're sure this leads into the lower levels?" Dice asked, arms crossed.

Vert pointed at his sleeve.

"I have a tracker," he said. "Surprisingly, the signal still works down here."

"Well, look at you..." Matches said, elbowing Vert. "Mr. 'I can't trust technology.'"

Vert's face reddened, and he straightened himself up.

"It's a bit of a difference."

Face remaining an empty slate, Dice said, "I agree."

Vert banged on the wall. The wall groaned, then quieted.

"I could've sworn this was the entrance," Vert said.

His voice crumbled. He went to turn on his heel. Though, as his heel squealed along the ground, the wall made a squeal of its own. A thin gap wedged between the ground and wall.

Vert waved his arm toward the crowd of Clansmen. "It's open. Everybody can start entering, single-file."

Vert ducked under the gap and crawled through. Dice and Matches followed.

Dice found himself in an open, dim room. The floor was made of rusted grates, suspended by chords and pulleys. Squinting between the grates, he found a long drop below them. His mind conjured an image of the pulleys snapping. He closed his eyes and winced, before shaking the thought away.

The room was humid and stuffy, despite its openness. Conditions only worsened as Clansmen spilled through the gap in the floor. An engine hanging from a wall, connecting to the pulleys, growled angrily. Heatwaves foamed from its mouth. Pistons gnashed against one another.

Walking under the engine, Dice placed his hands along the wall. He recoiled. The wall was damp, a stream of water running down it. He scanned around to see all the walls glistening with water.

He looked at Vert, but Vert paid no notice. His eyes jumped between his wrist and his Clansmen.

"Is everybody here and accounted for?"

At first Dice had thought that those words had come from Vert. Though, it wasn't Vert's voice. Dice craned his neck to find a robot flying over them.

Vert opened his mouth.

"No need to answer," the robot said. "You've actually brought a touch more people than was predicted. We based our estimates according to the aircraft that you landed in — however, this group is 325.87% over your aircraft's peak carrying capacity.

"326%, to be precise," Vert said, annoyance coating the edges of his voice. "Aren't you glorified calculators supposed to be good at math?"

"I'm positive it's 325.87%. Are you sure that you didn't —?"

"Don't know, don't care. Anyway, yes: this is all of us. We have a lot of people in our group, and access to not-a-lot of aircrafts. Deal with it. Also, you can hit the pulleys. We're prepared for descent."

The robot chirped, then whipped to the wall's engine.

"So, how does this thing work?" Matches asked. "Is it water powered?"

"Used to be," Vert said with a smirk. "That function doesn't work so much anymore though. Instead, it's powered in... Other ways."

The robot plunged an arm into one of the engine's ports. Sparks of electricity shot from it, and the engine puttered with a new life. As the pulleys turned, and Dice's stomach churned. His eyes snapped closed. He could feel the robot's thrusters resting over his head, but he didn't dare open his eyes to look.

The elevator clanged to a stop. It creaked as a door opened. The ground rocked as people shoved past, their hot, sweaty palms leaching through his clothes.

He didn't reopen his eyes until he was sure everybody had left. To his surprise, Vert and Matches stood in front of him. Looking at him. Studying him.

"You falling asleep again?" Matches said patting Dice on the back.

"Just thinking," Dice said.

"Well — well, what about?" Vert asked.

Dice stepped off the grated elevator, and through the rusted door. He missed the stuffy atmosphere of the elevator and its trickling water as he entered a stone passageway, notable only for its lack of decoration.

"That elevator... It was nothing like the old transport capsules from the Monterey District," Dice said. "I'm used to struggling to understand technology. I feel like it's getting too far ahead of us all... Passing us by. This time though? I understood it very well. Too well. I could see all the seams. All the ways that it could break."

"I would think that..." Matches began. "Wouldn't that be more comforting?"

Dice watched as the last people exited the elevator, and the rusted door clamped shut.

"Not necessarily."

Matches smirked. "I don't feel too safe here myself. This whole place seems held together only by nuts and bolts. It's a terrifying contrast to the streamlined city above."

Vert took a turn to laugh.

"The robots aren't as streamlined as they'd like to make themselves out to be," he said. "This whole city of theirs used to be devoted entirely to manufacturing, and harnessing water power. That is, before their riots took it to pieces and turned it to a trade center."

"They made the most out of their changes then, because I wouldn't have been able to guess," Matches said.

"More like the worst out of it." Vert scoffed. "They built a new world but forgot to bury the old one. They've just left it to rot beneath them.

Dice looked over his shoulder for signs of any other robots. "You might want to watch the particular vernacular that you use around these robots. We are relying on them for refuge."

"Calm down officer," said Vert. "They can't hear us in this place. This is just an abandoned pipe system. They're not surveilling this."

Vert's eyes flared with a fire. Dice tried making out the fire’s shape but came up empty.

A jolt ran through his body.

"Sorry," Dice said, pulling away from a person's back.

Matches snorted. "Sometimes I think you have eyes in the back of your head. Other times? I wonder if you even have eyes at all."

Vert's Clansmen were at a dead-stop, having blocked up the tunnel. Searching for a way around the crowd, Matches gaped. Dice fought the compulsion to do the same. It was impossible to see over the crowd, to see what froze them.

"That's some traffic jam," said Matches. "You have some kind of way to get through all of them?"

Vert gave a dismissive scoff and ran his hands along the walls.

"There's a vault at the end of this tunnel," Vert explained. "They'll be sitting ducks until Clansmen on the other side figure out they've arrived."

"Don't you have some way to inform those Clansmen?" Matches asked.

"Yeah. I always carry a blowhorn on me. But, why waste my time trying to do traffic control? No fun. I have something better in mind."

Vert clasped parallel slats in the wall. His eyes darted to two Clansmen at his side, who were watching him.

"You..." he began, softly. Then, with a snap, "Stay where you are. I'm only taking these two."

The Clansmen pleaded at him with lost eyes, before subsiding back into the crowd.

Vert tugged at the slats. The wall grinded as a slab of concrete slid out. Vert let go, letting the slab fall. It never hit the ground. Hanging from the wall on several hinges, the slab acted as an entrance to a passageway. Vert scrambled up.

"Come. Quickly," Vert said. "And shut the door behind you."

Having entered the tunnel after Matches, Dice was left to pull the slab back over the entrance. After a series of grunts, Dice closed it with a crisp click. He gave a kick, to test its strength. There wasn't the slightest shift.

Dice crawled down the passageway, until it fed into a cylindrical shaft. Dice stood and leaned along the wall. Its soft white glow swaddled him in warmth. Dice looked up and saw Vert and Matches scaling rungs along the side of the cylinder. Dice's hand tremored as he grappled one and pulled himself up.

"The door clicked, right?" Vert shouted down.

"Yes," Dice shouted back.

"Good — that means the door locked. The Clan Coordinators unlocked it via hacking the system, so I'm glad it worked."

Dice raised an eyebrow. "You hacked it?" he said. "You sure know a lot about this place."

Vert kept climbing. Dice's eye twitched. The rungs of the ladder slickened the further he went. His palms went sweaty.

"Where are we going?" Matches asked.

Vert shook his head. "Too many questions, too little time."

"I only asked one question."

"One too many. But, since you insist: I have a meeting, and you have an initiation. I know: things are happening in a zip. But, I have a good feeling about them. How about you guys?"

If anybody had given too many questions, it was Vert. What would the meeting consist of? The initiation? Why did it need to be done so fast? Dice gave a half-hearted, "yes" and glanced over to Matches. Had she peered into Vert's mind yet? Was she at least prepared for what they were getting into?

Dice tried clearing the lump in his throat and fixed his eyes to the light emanating around him. Anything to keep his thoughts away from the height. The lump remained, until Vert and Matches hoisted him over a ledge. Even then, he didn't dare look down.

"It's pretty shocking that the robots leave these subterranean structures abandoned," Dice said. "They have so much potential."

"The robots prefer building their structures into the sky, rather than below where nobody can see them," Vert said, leading them down a hall. "It might've been easier to build off these bones — but instead, they were determined on reaching for the sun. That's just how those moron machines work."

Dice rubbed his neck. Despite Vert's disgust, could the results of the robots really be argued with?

"Anyway, we're not in the plumbing shafts anymore, thank god," Vert said. "We're having our meeting in an abandoned pump room."

"And, you know where the pump room is?" Dice asked.

"For the last time: I know where everything is. We didn't want to come here unprepared."

"You seemed unprepared talking to the robots earlier," Matches said, with a laugh. Though, as the laugh carried through the hall, it rang hollow. Vert gave a glare.

"Looks can be..." Vert said, his voice turning harsh. "What's the phrase? Oh, just forget it..."

Dice looked down the hall's wide mouth. Overhanging it was a row of spiked tubes, dipping in and out against the ceiling's clean light. Despite the walls' bleach layering, rust and mold was caked underneath. It was in just as much disrepair as the plumbing shafts had been.

Dice listened for what he thought were voices. Though, it was so soft he couldn't tell if it had been in his head. Even as they drew closer to the hall's dead-end and Vert's strides became surer of themselves, Dice remained unsure.

"Alright people, I'm here!" Vert shouted.

There was a brittle crunch as the dead-end split open. The hall went awash in light. Ahead was a round table, seating the Coordinators. Their heads were held high, carrying heavy pride. Dice's eyes drifted to Jackie. She stood over the table, with one hand on a computer lumbering behind her.

"Come in," she said, wearing her smug half-smile.

Upon entering, the wall boomed shut. Dice stared at Matches. She needed to dig into the minds of these people — figure out what was going on.

She was oblivious.

"Please, take a seat," Jackie said, motioning at three free chairs.

Jackie hawked Dice through the corner of her eye as Dice took a seat. It were as if her offer had been a formality, and she'd expected Dice to stand. Dice pretended not to notice.

"Nice setup you have here," Matches said.

She pushed down on the edge of the table, causing it to wobble and then rebalance itself.

"Hover tech," she said. "Fancy.

Jackie groaned. "Please don't touch the table."

"Why is it even here if we can't touch it?"

Jackie didn't crack a smile. She didn't say a word. Matches' own smile melted from her face. The other Coordinators leaned in, putting her and Dice under a microscope. Dice observed his reflection as his face went hot.

"They're just messing around," Vert said, eyes darting. "I'm sure this all excites them, and — so, what's first on the agenda?"

"Initiation, I suppose," Jackie said, apathetically.

She took in a deep breath and rested her eyes in the corner of the room. Dice glanced over. Was there something over there?

"We going to just cut to the chase? Or, do we go through the whole gambit?" Vert asked.

"Obviously the former," Jackie said. "We'll run through the highlights, so we can resume our meeting. Shall we?"

Her eyes flitted to Dice and Matches. She took a few steps forward and bent the hover table toward herself. A smile flicked past her face.

"I've been watching you two, and you each have potential," she said. "You're not cut out for the best positions in the Clan, yet... But, Vert didn't make a bad choice."

Her voice trailed off. Her lips pursed shut. Dice was left to look into her eyes. Black and vacant. It was like looking into a pool of murky water. There was something at the bottom, but there was no telling what or how far down.

Jackie folded her arms behind her back and spun.

"The Clan is a force devoted to purging the U.R.O of its greatest vices," Jackie said. "We claw and scratch against them, seeking to overthrow the constrictions brought on by their police state. To bring the U.R.O back to its glory days. Do you concur with this position?"

Matches leaned back, before giving a halfhearted yes. Dice gave one as well but couldn't ignore the bitter taste it left on his tongue.

His mind shot back to his time as an officer. To the flurry of emotions he'd felt when he'd first gotten his badge. The joy he felt when he'd been assigned his first case.

The pit of despair when he'd started it. When he ended it and had to watch a man's eyes turn to nothing right in front of him.

If it hadn't been for him abandoning the police, he wouldn't have been in this mess of constant death and turmoil. Was ridding the U.R.O of all governmental structure really the solution to it all?

Jackie gave a clap. The other Coordinators mimicked her, breaking out into applause. However, Dice couldn't even manage a smile.

"Good, we're almost there," Jackie said. "There are two particular forces we fight, fundamentally opposed to the success of the U.R.O. U.R.O leadership, and robots... With their eradication, the world can start anew."

A stone fell through Dice's gut. The words made sense, but still tasted of nonsense.

"Call me crazy," Matches said, raising an eyebrow, "but, I don't think robots are anywhere close to our biggest problem."

Jackie glared at Matches. "You've been misled and misinformed. They're the sole cause of all our problems."

She turned to Dice, hoping to find affirmation. When she didn't, disappointment and pity flooded her eyes. Strangely, Dice felt ashamed. Yet, Jackie was wrong, wasn't she?

"And, what have we been misinformed about?" Dice asked, his voice rising.

The blackness within Jackie's eyes slunk back as she stared into the light and let out a sigh.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors that we're at war with the Kelvin Union," Jackie said.

Dice and Matches nodded. Though, Matches shifted in her seat, making the chair creak.

"A glorious war, isn't it?" Jackie asked. "The U.R.O, pitted against foreign aggressors who wish to suck us dry of our freedoms... Sounds like just the kind of thing that history is kept for, correct?"

Dice nodded again. "I don't find it particularly interesting who we're at war with though," he said. "It's just a thing that happens. A natural consequence of our power. It's really not the business of the average citizen."

Jackie smirked.

"Yes, of course it isn't," she said. Her fingers pressed lightly on the table, tilting it upward only slightly. "Isn't that what all of the officials always say? 'War isn't the concern of the average person'? Yes... Don't ever question. Don't ever prod. Don't ever wonder."

Matches' head was held down, and she avoided any eye contact. Dice folded his arms and frowned.

"Just tell us what you're getting at."

Jackie sucked in her cheeks and nodded sagely.

"We're at war with a nation that has been overtaken by robots," said Jackie. "You should already know this. What you might not know? They're upset with us for the way that the U.R.O has handled 'robotic rights'..."

She stopped to chuckle to herself.

"They believe we should be giving robots more power," she continued. "That humanity is a sort of sickness that needs to be dealt with. That we need to remove our 'human preservation' statutes. And, unfortunately, I think the U.R.O is going to end up caving... They've already removed 'human preservation' statutes from districts along the border, such as Tyler District. We haven't exactly been winning this war either, since the robots vastly outclass us. Additionally, the world is breathing down our neck, to force us to make peace — most of our trade partners have canceled their scrapping deals with us. And, that's not even the worst of it. The Kelvin Union is plagued with parasite bots... It spread to the U.R.O, among their scrapping operations. It's only going to spread more. When it does, it'll be a catastrophe."

"That's horrible," Dice said. "Though, the U.R.O government and their robots aren't really to blame for that, are they?"

"They're entirely to blame. They're the ones who removed sanctions on robot intelligence two decades ago, thinking they could somehow regulate it. Moreover, their military — despite all the funds and research put into it — has hilariously failed us. If they hadn't been consumed by their own hubris, we wouldn't be here."

"I don't mean to argue — I'm excited about being a Clansman more than anything, and I'm really just playing Devil's advocate — but, if the U.R.O removed 'human preservation' statutes, they could enlist robots rather than crude drones. Wouldn't that help the military? Maybe the U.R.O's choice to accommodate robots would be exactly what we need, after all."

Jackie shook her head. Dice looked to Matches for support, but she still had her head down. Did she not care? Did she not want to hear?

"So naive," said Jackie. "The U.R.O is powerful. But, not even they are powerful enough to control artificial intelligence... Understand: giving artificial intelligence power is exactly how the Kelvin Union crumbled."

Jackie chuckled again. Though, her mouth was stern, and her eyes sallow.

"Our death has already begun," she said. "Robots are everywhere now — taking our jobs, controlling our economy, building new districts. The only way to end any of our problems? By overthrowing the U.R.O from within. By showing the world that the old ways are gone, and they have a new iron fist to contend with. The Clan is that iron fist. We are the solution."

Dice put his head down with Matches, in solidarity.

"We are the solution," Dice said. He bit his tongue.

"We are the solution," said Matches. She raised her head. "So, what do you propose that we do?"

"Follow the order of the Clan," said Jackie, grimly.

She began to hum. A Coordinator stood and walked to the computer behind Jackie. He adjusted its dials. The room's fans roared, and the lights dimmed.

"Do you know what the 'Order of the Clan' is?" Jackie asked.

"No," Matches said. "But, I have a few ideas."

Dice's heart sunk. Matches' upbeat tone had splintered into a depressive drawl.

A serene smile wrapped around Jackie's face. Her eyes closed, leaving Dice to feel as though Jackie had been transported away and replaced by something ethereal.

"Can I trust that your loyalties will be with the Clan, no matter what?" Jackie asked.

Dice nodded. "Yes."

Matches leaned back and placed her hands behind her head. "I don't see any other way for us to quickly get into the Kelvin Union — so yes."

Jackie's face twisted into a scowl.

"She's just joking," said Vert, with a snicker. "They do need to get to the Kelvin Union, but they also support our cause. Isn't that right?"

"Of course." Matches wore a faux smile.

Jackie brushed her shoulders off and resumed her serene demeanor. Though, as she cleared her throat, she cast a sidelong glare at Matches.

"Repeat 'the Order' after me," she said. "Purity can only be achieved through eradicating robots and overtaking the U.R.O."

"Purity can only be achieved through eradicating robots and overtaking the U.R.O," Dice and Matches said. A dark cloud hung over Dice as he said the words. He shook his head. It was nothing.

"We are purity. We will bring things back to glory. We will be the U.R.O's revival."

"We are purity," Dice and Matches said. "We will bring things back to glory. We will be the U.R.O's revival."

An image flashed by Dice's eyes. A dark memory. Dice pinched his eyes closed. He'd gone too long without proper sleep. That was all.

"We are the revolution. We are the Clan."

Dice and Matches repeated the words. Though, Dice struggled not to slur his. All the chanting — it was too much. A nightmare tugged on the reef of his mind.

A whoop lapped around the table.

"Revival!" the Coordinators shouted, pumping their fists. Dice pumped his fist as well, but only mustered a mutter. Matches didn't bother lifting her fist at all, instead placing her hand to her temple. Dice's mind ran. What did Jackie think? More importantly, what did Matches know?

Jackie swung her fist a few more times, prompting more rounds of zealous chanting. Once Jackie's voice wore from the strain, the chanting subsided. Her eyes narrowed on Matches, who remained complacent.

"Congratulations: you're now Clansmen," Jackie said. "In the coming weeks, we'll make sure to host a proper ceremony for you both. Until then, Vert will — he'll be your guardian, keeping an eye out for you."

"Sounds excellent," Dice said.

The corners of Jackie's eyes crinkled, almost in a sort of sympathy. She turned away.

"Alright, now that that's out of the way," Jackie said. "We can begin our strategy meeting. We're going to try keeping this brief and to-the-point, people. We have a lot of work to do, and the less chit-chat the better. First order of business: does everybody still possess their Omega Keys?"

One of the Coordinators raised their hands. "Do our newly recruited members really need to be here for this?"

"It's fine, Gary," said Jackie. "They're fine. Now, everybody: pull out your Omega Keys, please. There should be two for each of you."

Dice turned toward the wall. Maybe and Matches didn't belong in here. Maybe it would be better if they left. Yet, the wall was fastened shut. They were trapped.

There was a series of clanks as the Coordinators set down thin blue strips lined with yellow microchips. Dice suddenly wished he still had access to his old computer-projector. It would've been able to reveal the keys' countless secrets.

"Those are Omega Keys?" Matches said, with a scoff.

Jackie's lips puckered. "Excuse me?"

"Hey, let's all just calm down here," said Vert. He looked at Jackie. "Remember, these people are fugitives for a reason. They've probably gone awhile without authority. Don't worry and be patient. I'll wrangle them in."

"Of course," Jackie said. She turned back to the Omega Keys. "Is that all of them, all accounted for?"

Vert leafed through them.

"Uh... There are supposed to be sixteen," said Vert. "But, I can only count fifteen."

Jackie's eyes pierced through Gary.

"Did you lose one of your Omega Keys?"

"N – No," he stuttered.

"Whatever, it's fine," said Jackie. "We don't have time for that now. We at least didn't lose any others. You can now all now place your Omega Keys back where you had them."

Jackie snapped a finger and pointed at Gary's chair. Gary blushed, before standing from his chair and giving it to Jackie.

"I love it!" Jackie said, sitting down as Gary awkwardly stood behind her. "All of us are here, and united, on the eve of our final crusade in the U.R.O."

Final crusade? Dice tried exchanging a glance with Matches, but Matches' head was back down.

"The Tyler District falls tonight!"

There was applause all around the table.

"Wait? Tonight, tonight? Why wasn't I told about this?" asked Gary.

Jackie shrugged. "Did you even pay attention during our meeting with the Prime Terminal? Tonight is all we have. And, it's now clear this is more urgent than ever... These robots possess dark matter engines. They can build Gideon Rays if they want. My guess? They already have. Sparky, like we discussed: keep an eye out for those."

Gary's face burned a hot red. Dice's face burned with him. Of course the Clan was planning on raiding the Tyler District. How could he have been so oblivious?

“Let’s go through a quick review: I'll be leading the main attack," Jackie said. "Samantha, you're in charge of the planting of underground detonators. You finally have everything in place for that, correct?"

A Coordinator, who Dice assumed was Samantha, nodded their head. Though, Jackie didn't take the time to acknowledge her, continuing to blare out names.

"Mel? You're coordinating navigation through the Tyler District, to ensure that nobody gets lost or sidetracked. Make sure all your assistants are in position and have their communicators online.

"Sparky and Vert? You're handling the ambush attacks. Sparky, I know you like relying on your hacking expertise, but you need to compromise with Vert."

A heavyset man wearing a blue visor gave a begrudging, "yes".

"Rosaria? You're in charge of securing our escape vehicles. I know it's a lot to ask, but you're going to need to get to the aircraft bay with your group before the robots can shut it down.

"Kevin? you're our quality control. Keep a head-count of everybody, keep our medical teams on target, keep track of the other coordinators, and do whatever you can to make sure our head-count is staying bigger than the robot's head-count.

"And, Gary... You'll be in the front-lines of our charge. Try your best to not get shot in the first five minutes."

Jackie lifted her head from her wrist, with an air of pride.

"Does anybody have any questions concerning their roles?"

Nobody said a word. Gary coughed into his arm and shuffled his feet awkwardly. Dice's ears turned hot. He hadn't prepared for this in the slightest

"When do we start?" asked Matches, her voice resuming its chipper tone. She yawned. "Because, I need a cat-nap, and this meeting is exhausting."

"The raid starts within the next few hours," said Jackie, coldly.

She lifted herself from her chair and tugged at her uniform's sleeve. A sword slid out, onto the table. Jackie lifted and swung it, softly scraping the table's surface. Dice winced at the blade's sharp whine. A thick silver tail was gouged in the table before Jackie finally placed the sword behind her back.

"As short notice as 'a few hours' might sound, I've gone through countless hours of training for this moment," she said. "We all have. This is our last hurrah. There isn't a crevice of the Tyler District that we haven't analyzed. Perhaps we should've told you both about this raid sooner — but then, we couldn't take the risk of disloyal followers, now could we?"

Jackie leaned toward Matches. Dice inched away, his heart hammering.

Vert hastily put an arm around Matches.

"Not — not to imply that we think you're disloyal, or anything," Vert said, sputtering. "You're a welcome new addition to the Clan. Right, Jackie?"

Jackie shot Vert a venomous look.

"Of course," she said. "We're more than happy to have you here. Anyway, I think that concludes our meeting... Vert, can you take them to a place where they can have a 'cat-nap'?"

…

Dice shielded his eyes as a glaring lamp was pulled into his face.

"BL-270 — I'm quite disappointed by your recent actions against the collective," said the voice.

Dice moaned and tried looking around. Blind-spots clouded his vision, and all he could see was blackness. Blackness, and a table. Dice tried to stand up. Tried to move. Though, he was strapped down.

"I'm tired of the collective," Dice said. "I'm tired of going through the same gambit, endlessly... Without rest... Without compensation..."

The voice clucked its tongue.

"You're my prized specimen," it said. "Out of all of them, you've satisfied me the most... Your results? They vastly exceed that of any other. Yet, maybe because of that I've been too hard on you. Maybe it's finally time that I extended my hand outward and explained everything."

The lamp backed from Dice's face and fed back into the ceiling. A man with an artificial left eye leaned in. Dice's heart leapt to his throat.

"My name is Professor Cassius," the man said. "And you, BL-270? You're a clone. Or, as this U.R.O facility calls it, a 'duplicate'."

Dice shook his head.

"No — no, it can't be," he said. "I'm my own person. I'm an individual. You've trapped me here for decades, against my will."

"Only a few years, not decades, my boy," said Cassius, with a chuckle. "And, understand: we haven't kept you here out of some sadistic means... No. Your efforts here have been crucial to the success of the Duplicate Project, and the Hamilton Project."

"The what?"

"You started out as a clump of stem cells. We bred you from that. Monitored you. Trained you to perfection, and then tried figuring out just what made you so successful. Later on? We used your intellect to weed out the failed duplicates of ours, and to study duplicate brain activity.

"Your work on brain activity was especially useful. We transferred your results to the 'Hamilton Project', to help create the first successful batch of androids. Androids with power over mind and machine. They didn't go over as well as we would've liked, choosing to escape their confinement and go rogue... That's why we've had you working especially hard, as of late. We've needed your help to locate them all."

"I work like a slave, because a group of androids went rogue?"

"You work for the benefit of the collective, not as a slave. You've been helping kill androids that might one day kill others. That's your purpose. That's what we've genetically engineered you to do."

Dice's head ached. He stared into the darkness, trying to escape, but the darkness only seemed to draw in and smother him. Too much was going on. Nothing made sense.

"If I'm a duplicate, who am I a duplicate of?"

Professor Cassius coughed.

"Who am I a duplicate of!?" Dice shouted.

"It's utterly random," said Cassius. "I'm sorry. You could be anybody, out of billions."

Tearing at his hair, Dice's eyes bulged. "This isn't fair. None of this is fair. I deserve to have my own life. To be my own person. You can't just keep me as a rat! Do you hear me!?"

"I hear you."

There was a crash. Cassius disappeared. A green light flared on. Dice spun his head, but only found walls of glass, with the words "duplicate" sprawled along them.

"You're right," said Cassius. "Your mind has matured beyond that of any other duplicate. You don't belong here anymore. This chamber you're in? It'll erase all memories of any of this. When you wake up, you'll be a new man, free to live whatever life you choose."

Dice went to retort but was gagged by a black ooze. It coiled around his legs. His torso. His face.

He watched the word "duplicate" on the glass steadily fade away, letter by letter.

"Duplicate."

"D plic te."

"D lic te."

"D ic e."

Chapter 26:

Dice sat up. His head buzzed. Sweat dripped down his face.

He closed his eyes and ran his hands through the coils in his hair. His nightmares couldn't have been true. Could they have? No, it must've just been a fever dream. A hallucination.

He reopened his eyes and scanned around. Maybe Matches triggered the nightmare.

She was nowhere in sight. The entire room was empty, covered in abandoned sleeping bags.

"No," Dice moaned. His eyes and nose stung. He fought back tears. "I don't... It doesn't..."

He choked.

"Everybody, report to their stations," a voice blared through the walls. "You have an hour until the assault."

Dice limped through the exit, back into the plumbing shafts. Streams of Clansmen brushed past.

He had to get out. Find a place of solitude. An entire district was about to be turned to ash, and he would be powerless to stop it. Powerless... Like he'd been all his life.

Discomfort lodged in his soul. Maybe Professor Cassius was right. Maybe he was destined to kill robots.

Dice turned up his hearing aid and looked over his shoulder. He could've sworn he'd heard footsteps trailing after him, echoing his own. However, there were just Clansmen and barren tunnel walls. Paranoia welling up inside, Dice ducked between the crowd and went down a narrow corridor.

The air was dim and cool. A flush of water streamed through a tube overhead. As the corridor thinned more, Dice hunched. Lights flickering along the walls kept him going forward.

Once the lights dropped off and the tunnel began to sandwich him, Dice crouched against a wall. Leaning in, the abrasive rock tore against his skin. A sludge of rust and scraps lapped at his ankles. Dice's shoulders tensed. His lungs deflated.

His entire world had imploded. In less than an hour, the entire Tyler District would do the same. Everything the robots had built would be gone. Was that supposed to be good, or bad?

Dice shuddered. There was no clear answer.

Dice pushed against the walls. They were so close together. Cramped. Compressed. Dice's heart railed against his ribcage. It was as if he was back in the containment tubes from the Duplicate Project. Yet, even that had felt better than this.

"Dice!"

Dice's eyes widened. He peered down the corridor. He wasn't alone. At the end of the tunnel were two silhouettes. He looked away, squinting at where the corridor thinned into a pipe. He would’ve tried pressing through, but he was already as far as he could go.

"Dice-skater!" the voice called again. "Dice the diesel! Spicy Dicey! What are you doing here?"

It was Vert.

"Dice, I know you're there," said Matches. "I'm about to start a game of spines — don't leave me to be stuck playing with this novice."

"How'd you find me?" Dice crawled forward.

Shoulders loosening as he stood, he waddled toward them in a hunch.

"When we saw you were still sleeping, I manually synced up with your wrist’s signature," Vert said.

"We stalked you," Matches said. "Trust me, it's better than it sounds. Actually, maybe not... Anyway, Vert said he'd come back to wake you up, before we started the assault. Looks like you beat him to the punch."

"Do you want to play a game of cards?" Vert asked. "We only have an hour before we launch the attack, and I need to clear my head. I figured we all did."

There was a hazy film around Dice's vision. He just wanted more time alone. More sleep. Could Vert really be trusted?

Vert crouched with a chuckle. He tossed a worn pack of cards in Dice's direction.

"You know how to shuffle?" Vert asked.

Dice didn't hear the words until after Matches had crouched next to Vert.

"Wha — oh, yeah, I know."

"Trust me, Vert," Matches said. "He's great."

"Great. I'll… Trust you, then."

Dice dumped the cards into his lap. As he shuffled them, his fingers turned to bludgeons. The stack was dough in his hands, becoming more misshapen the longer that he held them.

"They don't have any cleaner robots back here?" Matches said, brushing the rust off her hands. "Or, at least a mop?"

Vert burst out laughing.

As the laughter subsided into soft pings in the distance, Vert placed a hand on Dice's wrist. He reached for the cards.

"Why don't I try shuffling those?" Vert flashed a grin.

Once Vert had pulled his hands and the cards away, Dice wiped his wrist off on his bodysuit. Grime had caked onto it. Had it been there all along, or had it come from off Vert's hand?

"Quite the thing we have going, isn't it?" Vert asked. "Don't worry: the Clan only gets worse the longer you're in it."

He snorted. The cards chattered as his fingers glided over their edges. Several of them were left bent.

"In all seriousness, you two will be fine," Vert said. "Sorry if Jackie seems a bit... Intense. She's not usually like this. It's just that the stakes are so high right now, you know?"

"Intensity is just a given in the Clan, isn't it?" Matches asked.

She took a pile of cards and turned them over.

"Exactly!" said Vert, with a smile. "There might be extremes in the Clan. But, these are extremes that need to be taken. The U.R.O must be brought back to its former glory. To stop it from falling, we must make it fall."

Dice took his cards. His fingers throbbed. They were all hot trash. He peered over them. It was almost his turn, and Vert was a dangerous opponent. He had the glint of experience in his eyes.

"You owe me two cards," Vert said. "I always get lucky with my guesses."

He laughed and held his hand to his chest. Dice forced a laugh of his own, to stave off Vert's laugh becoming another perturbing echo.

"Your turn," Vert said, eyeing Dice.

Dice leafed over his cards, before asking for one from Vert. Vert didn't have the card. Dice tossed his card over to Vert and returned to his deck.

"The slightest slip could tarnish the Clan's operation," Dice said. "Why did you ever bother saving us from the Omicron? Why take a risk on us?"

Vert shrugged.

"I saw something in you and — Wrench, was it?" he said. Dice winced at the mention of Wrench. Though, Vert went on as if he hadn't even noticed. "And Matches too, of course."

Vert asked for a card from Dice. The card floated out of Dice's deck, lighting up Vert's face.

"Just make sure that you don't screw up," Vert said, eyeing Matches.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Matches said.

Matches took her turn and ended it with two less cards.

"Sometimes, I try to keep this game lasting forever," Matches said. "I don't think that I'll be able to do that this time though."

Vert snorted. "Like I said earlier, I'm good at what I can do."

Cards slipped out of Dice's and Matches' hands, while Vert's deck kept fattening. Turns went by, with seldom so much as a word. Dice's deck finally thinned to one card.

"Are you guys excited for tonight?" Vert asked.

Dice shrugged. "More afraid, than anything else."

He tossed his last card to Vert and scooted out of the circle.

"Stage-fright?" Vert said, with a grin. He tried injecting sympathy into his voice, but his eyes were set on Dice's card. "Don't worry. Once you're on the battlefield, destroying those robots, you won't even remember how you're feeling right now."

"I wouldn't call this district a 'battlefield'," Matches said, putting down her last card.

"Would the term, 'hellhole' be more accurate? It doesn't matter. What I was going to get at is this: you two are now members of the Clan. The greatest force in the world. You're Clansmen! No matter what anybody does, that can't be taken away from you. Wear your title with pride. Don't forget it."

Matches scooted out of the circle. Vert sat alone with his deck and the stack of cards.

"Report to your station!" A voice blared. "Thirty minutes remaining!"

"Uh... Well," Vert said, standing up. "This was a good talk. Thanks for the game. Now, we really have to go. This Clan isn't going to be able to organize itself."

Vert put the cards back in their box and began walking off. Though, Matches managed to snag them out of his hands.

"I want just one more quick game, between me and Dice," Matches said. "See you in a bit. Don't get killed by any rogue robots."

"I won't," said Vert.

"Don't jinx yourself."

Vert's laughs echoed through the tunnel. Dice considered following after them. Of returning to the crowd of Clansmen, and the mess of orders and instructions among them. He'd be hopelessly lost. However, he would at least have made a choice.

Matches pulled the stack of cards out of the box and shuffled them. She handled them with ease, with them gracefully sliding through her fingers.

She placed the pack of cards down.

"What's wrong?" asked Matches. "Upset you lost another game of cards?"

Keeping his eyes fixated on a pool of water, Dice shook his head.

"I don't think I've ever lost a game of cards before myself," Matches said.

She'd started as a joke but lost her jovial tone halfway through.

"You must've lost against Vert on purpose," Dice said.

Matches managed a halfhearted chuckle.

"Maybe," she said.

Dice kicked at the puddle. He looked for ripples but found none. Darkness absolved the puddle of any detail.

"You going to start the game?" Matches asked. "Or, is the ground that much more interesting?

Dice sighed. Matches placed a hand on Dice's back.

"What's wrong?" Matches asked.

"I—."

Weathered markings were sprawled along the wall. Were they wear and tear, or graffiti?

"Dice?"

"I — I was wrong about you," Dice said. "Those nightmares I was having... They had nothing to do with you, after all. I'm sorry."

He ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry too. I should've never interfered," Matches said. "I've had a lot of nightmares myself, lately. Close encounters with Knowles, the death of Wrench, and now this... It's a lot."

Dice shook his head. "My nightmares weren't about any of that."

He clenched his cheeks.

"You’re right. I only saw glimpses of your nightmares," Matches said. "Dark rooms... Cramped spaces... Strange voices... They were some of the most lucid I've ever seen. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to... But, what were they about?"

Dice's head went numb, and his ears rang. Images flashed in front of his eyes. The tunnel went black and folded around him. A glass wall pressed against him. Pressure bound his eyes as he tried to break free.

"I'm in a cage," he said, with a pant. "A tube. And, I can't... I can't get out. I'm trapped."

Matches' hand was on his forehead.

"It's gone now," she said. "Breathe. Think of something else. It's just a bad dream."

Dice coughed and shook his head.

"No, you don't understand," he said. "I used to think that, but these dreams... They're not just dreams. They're memories. Years' worth of suppressed memories."

Matches pulled her hand away and shook her head.

"That doesn't make any sense."

Dice felt as if he were floating. The walls still pressed against him, but they were so far away.

"I'm artificial. A clone. A duplicate."

Dice choked after letting the words out. Dice wanted to study Matches' face and gauge her reaction. Read her mind. He couldn't bring himself to, in fear of finding horror.

"It's alright," Matches said. “Pretty sure that we’re all misfits, here.”

Matches smiled. It was a thin smile. If Dice hadn't been paying close attention, he would've missed it. Though, unlike many of Matches' other smiles, this one was genuine.

Dice cleared his throat. "My last nightmare cleared things up for me... But, everything is confusing. Remember the man who I kept you from killing in the MDPD? Professor Cassius?"

"Vaguely."

"I don't know how, or for how long... But, he created me. Me, and thousands of other duplicates. We were constantly used in experiments. Some of them, to kill other failed duplicates. Others, to kill failed androids. Our sole purpose was to be killers... We were bred killers."

Matches' eyes were down, watching her fidgeting hands.

"So, what I'm getting out of this is that there's two of you walking around?" Matches asked. "And, I thought one of you was bad enough."

Dice smiled. The smile faded. He shook his head.

"Maybe... Probably. To be honest, I have no idea who I was cloned from. They could be dead. Could be alive. I'm lost."

"Call me crazy, but I don't think there can be anybody else like you."

Dice's eyes jumped to the puddle again. He could've sworn it sloshed. Yet, it remained stagnant under his gaze.

"But, there is," he whispered.

Matches shook her head. "I've heard of clones before. But, I had no idea that there were so many... I had no idea their conditions were so poor."

"I had no idea either, until today. I wish I still had no idea. They put you in capsules that are pitch-black... Cramped. Half the time, you can't move. They numb your nerves and senses, so you can hardly even feel. You live to be connected to a computer, where more knowledge will be uploaded. Where you'll be allowed to sense, and feel... But, you never truly get to sense and feel. Not really."

"Life must've been... Tough once you got out of the capsule."

"You'd think that... But, the further back in my memory I go the blurrier it becomes. I'm not even sure what's real and what's not. For all I know, I was released into the world only a month ago, and everything else is just implanted."

Matches kicked at the water. There was a resounding splash, which climbed up Dice's back as an unnerving chill.

"Yeah..."

"That's just a word people use when they have nothing else to add to conversation."

Matches' expression deepened into a frown, before curling upward in a makeshift smile.

"Yeah..." She straightened herself up. "Anyway, Vert finally isn't snooping around, and seeing as we're revealing things to one another: the Clan isn’t what they say it is. I've been probing people's minds. They want to kill everybody in this district. Not just the robots. The humans too. Sparky's plan is to hijack a Gideon Ray. And, Jackie? She wants Vert to kill us, once this is all over."

Dice snorted. "Figures..."

"Yeah. I'm thinking that we split off from them for an aircraft, first chance we get. I managed to snag an Omega Key while they were bickering in the meeting. We don't need their help anymore."

Matches whipped a blue band out of her pocket and handed it to Dice.

"Matches, you sly dog," Dice said, with a grin. He pocketed the key.

"Guilty as charged."

Dice stared into Matches' silver eyes. "Is there anything else you want to tell me? Any... Any secrets of your own?"

"Other secrets?" Matches asked, her voice collapsing once it had carried passed the puddle rippling under her feet. "I don't have any secrets."

The air was rotten, and musty. It smelled like Dice's old apartment. It had been too long away from there. Away from home.

"I think that's the first joke I’ve heard you make that you haven't laughed at," Dice said, rubbing his eyes.

"I wasn't joking."

"You definitely weren't telling the truth."

Dice studied Matches' face. The longer that he looked at it, more mileage seemed to pile onto it. Dust covered her skin. Her hair was ratty. Her nose was slightly crooked. There were a few scuff marks and scars that certainly hadn't been there before.

Or, had they?

It was the first time he'd noticed it. Whenever Matches smiled, all the wear had slipped by without detection. Now? Everything was peeled back. There were no more fake smiles, or false covers.

Dice shuffled his feet but wasn't met with the familiar sloshing of water. It had all been splashed away, only a coat of rust remaining.

"I don't have much of a story to tell," Matches said. "Not one like yours, that's for sure."

"I doubt that."

Matches gave Dice a fierce glare.

"I don't have a story to tell," she said.

Her face softened.

"I don't have much," she said, sweeping her hair out of her face. "And, what I do have? I'd prefer to keep to myself. Please: just trust me on this."

Matches turned, walking back toward the widening mouth of the tunnel.

"Of course I trust you," Dice said.

The words singed his lips. However, what else could he say? What else could he do?

"Let's go back to the Clan," said Matches.

"Sounds good."

Chapter 27:

"Who is going to eradicate robots?!" Jackie said, in a shrill cry.

Dice's hand jerked to his hearing aid as the room exploded with, "The Clan!"

"And who is going to take over the Tyler District?!" Jackie shouted again.

"The Clan!"

"And, who is going to bring it back to its former glory?!"

"The Clan!"

Smiling smugly, Jackie clasped her hands together. She stood over the crowd, on a platform of deformed robots and scrap-metal. Yet, she might as well have been standing on a cloud. The eyes of every Clansmen brimmed with luster, fully enraptured by her.

"That's right!" Jackie said, puffing herself up. "Now, remember: apart we hold power—"

"Together the Clan wields it!" the crowd cried in unison.

Matches leaned into Dice's ear. "I bet if they were asked how many fingers they had, they would answer the Clan..."

"They would still be right, too," Dice said.

They shared a frail smile.

The Clan had gathered outside a sprawling steel gate, which marked the final separation between the Tyler District's higher and lower levels. A checkered electric barrier guarded it. Dice gave a pitying frown. It would be turned to cardboard in a matter of minutes.

"We are purity. We are the revolution. We are the Clan," Jackie said. "I embolden you: feel no fear. The Clan has not and will not fail. Not yesterday! Not tonight! Not ever!"

The crowd cheered. Jackie raised her hands, drinking it in.

"We've trained for weeks on end! We will win! We will be celebrating tonight for weeks to come!"

Jackie unsheathed her sword, making a few swings at the air.

"The only way we can fail is if we are to believe in failure," Jackie said, lowering her voice and hanging her head. "Focus on your duties, and victory is destiny!"

Jackie pumped her fists, garnering fresh rounds of praise. Dice joined in, ignoring the bitter taste.

As the cheers subsided, Jackie stepped from the platform and walked toward the barrier. She motioned to Clansmen at the front of the crowd, prompting them to follow her. Swift, well-armed, and well-armored, they were distinct from other Clansmen. Their blasters were particularly distinct, being bulkier and brighter than any others.

A guttural shout left Jackie's throat. The Clansmen aimed their blasters at the barrier.

"Fire!"

Rather than a blast, there was a hum. The electric field buckled. Warped. Steadily swallowing the electric field, the blasters' soft yellow glow was replaced with a blinding red. The barrier sparked and sputtered, before finally being left barren.

A hush fell over the Clan. Dice's eyes bulged in wonder. Yet, the feeling fled upon faint sounds — scrapes and claws, teetering on the edge of his hearing. His gaze focused on the barrier.

"Do you hear that?" Dice asked, with a gulp.

Matches smirked and shook her head. "Still hearing voices?"

Dice put his hand to his hearing aid. It'd been turned down — the sounds must've been a hallucination.

"Guess the nap wasn't enough," he said, faking a yawn.

Jackie gave a sharp whistle, slicing through the silence.

"Aim, and fire on my command!" she shouted.

The Clansmen's arms swung in a jerking motion as they flipped a switch on their blasters. In a growl, the blasters' red lights flickered fiercely.

"Fire!" Jackie shouted.

The room flashed. A boom resounded. The barrier wailing as it fell to the ground, Dice closed his eyes. Anguished screams and cries circled him. His heart pounded, but the pounding of feet drowned it out. Flakes of metal flew into his skin. A gash dashed across his cheek.

The screams settled. Dice's eyes reopened.

Matches was gone. The Clansmen were already moving through a newly-made exit and into the center of the Tyler District. A small army of robots flanked around them. The robots raised their weapons, showing they were fully prepared to attack.

Dice whipped around. Much of the room was buried by the collapsed metal barrier and chunks of the ceiling. Dice's breath stopped short. Limbs jutted from under the rubble.

A hand fell onto Dice's shoulder.

"That was some explosion," Matches said. "It knocked a few years off my life."

Dice grinned. Dust covered Matches, but she was largely unscathed.

"Stay close behind me," Matches said, bringing her hand to her forehead. "Getting through this should be a cakewalk."

Matches jogged toward the crowd of Clansmen. Though, Dice's eyes remained on the rubble. Stragglers were still pulling themselves out.

"Come on Dice," Matches said. "We can't forget what's in front of us."

Reluctantly, Dice hobbled toward her. Gunfire rocketed between the robots and Clansmen. Dice watched each side fall, like dominoes. Yet, the Clan managed to outnumber the robots.

"Where the hell is Vert?" Matches asked.

"No idea. I can't make this battlefield out any better than you."

They pushed past Clansmen, making it further toward the front line, but there was no sign of Vert's ambush. Worse yet, the aircraft hangar was nowhere in sight.

"Probably should've snagged a map while I was snagging that Omega Key," Matches said.

"You think?" Dice said.

"Get back! Get back!"

Dice was shouldered by Jackie. Her eyes were glazed over, and her face red. An explosion went off. Dice hardly noticed it, over Jackie's crazed shouting.

"Pipe down, commander. What's going on?" Matches asked.

Jackie's frantic shouting subsided.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she said, voice lowering to a hush. "The robots — they were prepared for our attack. We must've tipped them off somehow... They're fading fast, but not fast enough to get us to the aircraft hangar before the detonators go off. Worst of all, Vert and Sparky? They won't pick up."

Jackie turned away, running deeper into the crowd.

"Out of my way!" she shouted, retreating to the barrier's rubble.

"You can't run away! You have the secret weapon!" Matches called after her. "You're the only one here who was smart enough to bring a sword, instead of a gun!"

A pit formed in Dice's stomach.

"We just need to get to the aircraft hangar," Matches said, turning back to Dice. "That's our only goal in this."

Dice ducked and pulled Matches down as a blast flew overhead. Howls erupted behind them. Dice winced. They'd narrowly escaped death.

"That, and staying alive," Dice said.

Matches groaned as she stood. She pressed her hand against her temples, her forehead reddening. A wobbly rift split amid the wall of robots. Meanwhile, the Clansmen were knocking down a path through the robots of their own.

"We made it out of Omicron together, didn't we?" Matches said, forcing a smile.

Dice looked away from Matches. There was no direction. It was all just noise. A crude cacophony of flesh on metal, and nothing more.

"Not all of us," he said.

His eyes burned. His throat went dry. The world went misty. Yet, he kept moving while Matches led the way, throwing robots aside.

"Keep pushing forward," somebody shouted. "We almost have all of them!"

It was a large man wearing a blue visor — Sparky. He was right, too. The robots were whittled down to a slender row.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" one of the Clansmen asked.

Sparky didn't respond. He didn't need to. The aircraft hangar tower loomed ahead of them. Dice went to look back at the barrier, only to find an insignificant blip.

"What do you think happened to Jackie?"

Matches followed Dice's gaze and nodded.

"Probably dead," said Matches. "Shame, too. She... Well..."

"That's all that you can say for her?"

"I guess she had a nice Omega Key... Glad I stole that from her."

A lone robot coiled between gunfire and blasts. Something crunched under Dice's feet. Dice shuddered. They were walking over fallen robots. Only a handful were still hovering around. Matches let out a sigh of relief and released her hand from her head.

"Keep firing!" Sparky said. "Do you all suddenly have butterfingers? We're supposed to leave no bots alive, if possible!"

"Where's Vert and Jackie?" a Clansman asked. "And who put you in charge?"

"Jackie put me in charge. And Vert is still underground, stalling the detonators and preparing a secondary attack. He'll meet us when he meets us."

Drawing closer to the aircraft hangars, the stream of robots thinned to nothing. There were groans and creaks underfoot. Vert was there, somewhere. However, even under Sparky's stiff direction, Dice questioned whether they'd make it to the hangars. The deeper they went, the more pressing this question became. Dull explosions of detonators went off in the distance, followed by the quake of collapsing structures.

Stenches of oil and smoke made their way up Dice's nose. Dice craned his neck, to see the hangar tower climbing into the sky. There was no tip in sight — just beams of metal, stretching endlessly.

Ahead of them was a pillar, hugged by a wide stairway. Would it be strong enough to support all the Clansmen? Dice swallowed the thought.

A cluster of robots descended. Sparky motioned for the Clansmen to fire, then halted them as a robot emitted a harsh beep.

"We surrender," the robot said. "As pacifists, we don't want things escalating to where we will have to use our Gideon Ray. Please, drop the weapons. We recognize our defeat."

An eerie pang hit Dice's gut. The robots were small in numbers. Unusually small. How long had it been since there had even been any?

There was a blast. The robot hit the ground.

"Sorry," Sparky said, swatting at steam from the barrel of his blaster. "The Clan must live on. Let's keep moving, troops."

More blasts went off, followed by more clangs. Robots wriggled on the ground with electric whines, before finally fizzling out. A shade of sympathy tinted Dice's eyes. He looked away. The robots stunk of smoke and molten metal.

The sound of explosions grew ever closer. Time was running short. He walked toward the pillar, trying to ignore how high they'd have to climb.

Where was Vert? Apart from the Clan, the center was barren.

Dice's eyes widened, and his eyes dipped. Most of the robots must’ve been below ground, fighting Vert's forces over the detonators.

Dice looked over to Matches, who had a perturbed look on her face. She must've been thinking the same thing.

As they ascended the pillar, Dice crossed his fingers and hoped for a sign of Vert. The explosions in the distance stopped. Then, nothing. Silence permeated the center.

Silence, and the clicking of guns. A whir.

The whir.... Where was it coming from?

"Whose gun is malfunctioning?" Sparky barked.

Nobody answered. Sparky's steps slowed. Dice heard the stiff creak of leather in Sparky's bodysuit.

"Everybody, turn your weapons from lethal to silent," Sparky said.

Clicks ran down the row of Clansmen. The whir remained. Hairs on Dice's arm raised.

"Maybe somebody forgot to turn the wind machine off," Matches said.

Nobody laughed.

"Nobody move!"

The voice thundered through the crowd like a hurricane. Sparky let out a shout, and prepared to make a run, but there was a detonation among the Clansmen. Dozens were flung away, a crater left in their wake. Others were ensnared in a net of blue energy, then pulled from the stairwell.

Dice looked up. Three hawk-like aircrafts hovered above. Cannons protruded from their bottoms, a wave of energy distorting their barrels. What type of technology were they utilizing?

Matches' mouth dropped.

"They found us."

The Clansmen broke into a frenzy, half of them running toward the newly-made crater in the stairs, and half of them scrambling down the stairs.

"What type of Clansmen do you want to be?!" Sparky shouted. "We need to fight!"

He grabbed at the Clansmen unfortunate enough to run by him, keeping them in the aircrafts' line of fire. However, a line of Clansmen still managed to group under the aircrafts, and tried shooting them down.

"I'd prefer to be a living Clansman, thanks," Matches said with a huff, helping drag Dice through the crowd.

People took swipes at Dice's bodysuit. His feet dragged as he considered how high they were getting. Though, Matches kept pulling him forward. A secure feeling wrapped over Dice. No matter what happened, he and Matches were in this together.

"It's working! It's working!" Sparky cried.

His voice was already far below them, small and shrill. Dice turned. Several steaming holes had been put through the U.R.O aircrafts, and they were making a descent to the battlefield. With any other force, this would've been a good omen. However, terror took over Dice.

He sped up, his feet tripping over themselves. His breath became heavy. Matches' breath was heavier.

There was a boom, followed by a thud as an aircraft landed. Three more thuds. Screams and shouts. Dice looked down. He was several dozen meters up in the air.

"Stand down," a voice echoed.

There was a whoosh as the door to an aircraft unlatched and descended to the ground. U.R.O soldiers strode out.

"Keep going! Don't look back!" Matches said.

Dice looked back anyway. The aircrafts' turrets aimed at their pillars. Dice could already feel them blasting through. His heart floundered.

"Fancy, meeting you here!" Knowles shouted, stepping from an aircraft and flicking his wrist.

Dice struggled to keep climbing, before finally giving out. He turned up his hearing aid. His eyes were fixated on Knowles, as he prowled around the battlefield. Knowles' eyes darted between Clansmen, comfortably cutting through them.

"I was on a flight to the Kelvin Union and figured I should drop by..." Knowles said. "I didn't expect to meet you guys. It's a small world after all..."

Knowles clutched one of the Clansmen around the throat and tossed them to the ground.

"You people are truly disgusting," Knowles said.

"How did you find us?" asked Sparky.

"We had a tracker on one of your members," Knowles said, dismissively. "A tip from the Tyler District's Prime Terminal also helped... Did you honestly think that we wouldn't find out about this, after your little stunt in Omicron?"

Even as Matches dragged Dice further away from Knowles, Dice could hear Knowles' sharp laughter. Unlike before, it was mixed with a mechanical synthesizer. It was colder. Harsher.

Sparky charged at Knowles but was shot down in crossfire from Knowles' soldiers.

"Look around you," Knowles said. "Look at the corpses of the robots you've destroyed. You're mass-murderers. Do you even feel a semblance of guilt? You supposedly wish to undo the wrongs of the U.R.O. Though, I ask you all: at what cost?"

Knowles snapped a finger, allowing one of the soldiers to shoot through Sparky's head. Sparky collapsed, limply. Dice expected to see a hint of shame or worry in Knowles' eye. Instead, there was only glee.

"Now, can anybody tell—?" Knowles began.

A sinkhole was put in the ground. Knowles gripped to the railing of his aircraft, but several U.R.O soldiers and dozens of Clansmen were lost to blackness. Dice squinted, trying to peer into it.

A swarm of robots emerged, with Clansmen riding atop them. Vert rode at the front of the pack.

"You're not the only hacker in the Clan, Sparky!" Vert said.

"Fire!" Knowles said, taking aim at Vert's robot.

The battlefield was drowned in a tsunami of noise. Watching it unfold, Dice's head ached. He had no idea which side he was for.

With a shout, Matches pushed Dice down. A beam of energy landed into the pillar, above them. Another, below. Their pillar quaked, pieces falling and leaving rows of damaged stairways in their wake.

Dice struggled to his feet. His body trembled and he stumbled forward. He leaned on the wall — the pillar was out of balance.

"I'm confident this pillar will collapse before we make it to the top," Dice wheezed.

"I wouldn't call that confident..." Matches said.

Tilting to the side, they gripped to ridges in the pillar. The pillar groaned, steadily leaning to the side. Dice went to the railing to keep from falling.

"It's about time you were knocked down a peg!"

"But, Sparky... How could you kill Sparky?!"

Dice's eyes snapped down. Vert was trapped under Knowles' stiff metal leg.

"It had to be done!" Knowles shouted. "Anyway, like the new leg? It's courtesy of you, seeing as you shot my good leg off, and whatnot!"

"You thought that was bad?" Vert asked, with a wry chuckle. "Sparky hijacked the Gideon Ray about an hour ago. This district is set to become a crater."

Knowles kicked at Vert's head. Vert whimpered but managed a weak response. Dice couldn't make the words out and was left to watch Vert wriggle in vain.

"Your rebellion is dead," Knowles said. "Now, tell me: where are your stowaways? Where are Dice and Matches?"

Dice looked away and struggled up the pillar's railing. He just needed to get to the opposite side.

His leg slipped and he careened toward the edge. Matches grabbed his hand and pulled him steady.

"You have a suicide streak in you, or what?" Matches asked.

"Or what."

Once they’d climbed to the other side, they leaned their backs against the pillar. Above them, metal and stone rumbled. The pillar split. Dice's arms went numb as he lost altitude.

"At least we get a fun ride out of this," Matches said.

Several Clansmen flew past them, falling to their doom. Dice winced.

"That's one way to put it."

He shimmied to the edge of the pillar and looked behind. The pillar was falling toward the ground. No — toward a neighboring pillar.

The sickness churning in his stomach disappeared. A light went off.

"Matches, we're going to make it," Dice said. "This pillar will collapse into the other. We can walk on the side of this one, to the other one."

Matches smiled for a moment, before letting her face fall.

"We can't hope to hurdle all of these stair ways."

A chunk of rubble broke through the stairways above them, before breaking through their own.

"Looks like we won't have to," Dice said.

Dice's stomach fluttered as their pillar went deeper into its plummet. He no longer felt as if he were leaning, but as though he were laying. Shock ruptured through the pillar, then Dice. Once it'd subsided, Dice scrambled to his feet and looked ahead.

Their pillar had collapsed into the other, making a clear pathway to the top.

"It actually worked!" Matches said, gaping.

"You sound surprised."

"Yeah, that’s about right."

Dice and Matches weaved through the holes left in the pillar's staircases. The top stairwell of the neighboring pillar was nearing into view. They were practically there.

"I think that we're the only people who've made it to the top," Matches said.

Dice let himself smile.

He let himself smell.

A thin layer of smoke came over them. He didn't need to look behind. Coughing, he picked up his feet.

"Duck!" Dice shouted.

Just as they were passing through a gap in the stairwells, Dice pushed Matches over. They were both on their stomachs, hidden behind the cover of the stairwell. A pattering resounded as the stairwell was hit by gunfire.

"Spoke too soon?" Matches said.

"Spoke too soon..."

There was a thud as somebody landed on the pillar. Dice slowly pulled himself up, to see Knowles several meters off.

"I know you're here," Knowles said. His voice had sharpened to the edge of a razor. "It's about damn time that you gave it up! You couldn't even begin to understand the breadth of resources the U.R.O has invested into your capture!"

Matches broke into a sprint. Before Dice knew what was happening, he was stumbling after.

"Maybe it's time to rethink your investments!" Matches said.

Gunfire from the aircraft spread wildly, leaving holes at every angle. Dice tried his best to keep behind cover of the stairwells, knowing all the while that Knowles was closing in

Once he'd made it to the stairwell of the other pillar, Dice shot Matches a dirty look.

"You just ran without me?" he said.

"Sorry. Figured you could keep up. Let's keep moving."

Dice raised an eyebrow, quizzically. How could she have forgotten him? Cautiously, he followed her toward the top.

Dice forgot about how high they were, the blasting gunfire, or the shouts Knowles threw after them. Making it to the hangar was all that mattered. He looked above, at the hangar's grated platform. The entrance door was locked shut.

"What do we do?" Dice asked.

Matches put her hand to her forehead.

"I might be able to break it..."

The door sparked, then flew open. There was a roar as the aircraft accelerated toward them and Knowles sent a blast from his gun. Matches slipped through the entrance. As the aircraft crashed into the pillar, Dice jumped after her and scrambled onto the platform.

With a grunt, Dice stood to his feet. He teetered, his balance lopsided. A crunch resounded. The floor under him bowed, threatening to slide him back down. Matches yanked Dice over to steady ground.

"I think I have a knack for saving you from falling off of things," asked Matches.

Dice shared a laugh. His laugh morphed to a choke. Knowles burst through the entrance. Dice stumbled back. Ears ringing, Dice followed Matches toward a row of aircrafts.

"There!" Matches said, pointing toward an arrowhead for an aircraft. A drone.

"This is pathetic," Knowles said. "You two are cowards. You run from the very group you supposedly supported... Moreover, the group you supported was abominable."

Once they reached the drone, Matches pressed her hand against her forehead. A strained look mapped across her face. "It isn't working... I can't get it open."

Matches banged at the door, to no avail. Dice's fingers ran along its surface trying to find a way to force it open. Yet, the sleek surface left no crevices exposed.

"Cowards!" Knowles repeated.

The words slit Dice's eyes. All he could see was Knowles. Knowles aimed his gun. They were locked in a standstill.

"You think that we support this group, of all people?" Dice said. "Trust me: we're well-aware they're just as bad as you. We don't have allegiance to anybody."

Knowles snickered.

"You were friends with Vert," he said. "The man who led me to kill your friend. The man who shot off one of my legs."

Knowles' stepped closer, his brow twisted in rage. Dice grimaced as he stared into Knowles' eyes. He'd never noticed before, but Knowles' flesh eye was uglier than the robotic. Its whites were bloodshot, its pupil was a murky black, and its eyelids were heavily scarred.

"You have so much fervor when fighting me," Knowles said. "Yet, when it came to taking a stand against these people? You stood idle. You could've done any number of things to try stopping 'the Clan'. And yet... You didn't."

"You could've done any number of things to stop yourself from killing Wrench," Matches said.

Knowles' head rolled back, as if he'd been punched in the face.

"It was an accident," he said, face abating. "I never would've—."

"You killed Vert too, didn't you?" Matches asked.

Knowles' hand fingered the trigger of his gun, making an unnerving click. The menace in his eyes disappeared, only dejection remaining. Dice quivered.

"Did you?" Dice asked.

"Do you know how many people he killed?" said Knowles, voice rising. "How many people his Clan is about to kill? Sometimes, you don't have a choice. You think you're so innocent? Trust me, BL-270: you're not. I know everything about you. You have blood all over your hands, even if you don't remember it."

Dice shook his head. He looked through the grates in their platform to see the battlefield. The landscape was ravaged. There was no telling who'd won. It didn't matter. It was only a matter of time before the Gideon Ray went off.

"Ah..." Knowles said, with a smirk. "So, you finally have your memory! Did Matches help give it back?"

A rush of adrenaline pumped through Dice's head. An orb of energy pumped out of the end of Knowles' gun. Dice fell back, his head in a soft buzz. Yet, the orb never neared him. It hardly grazed his skin, as he sunk out of the way.

Hitting the ground, Dice felt his vision blur. He saw two of everything. Two of Knowles. Two platforms. Two orbs. Two of Matches.

Matches.

There was a crash. A rock formed in Dice's stomach. He didn't want to look.

He looked anyway.

Matches was struggling to stay on her feet. She clutched her right shoulder. Her arm was missing. A lump formed in Dice's throat. In place of the missing arm hung loose wires and gears.

"Matches?" Dice choked.

Matches' eyes went wide.

"You seem surprised."

Knowles dropped his gun and walked toward Dice with clenched teeth.

"All this time..." Knowles said.

He glowered over Dice, pressing a finger into Dice's chest. Dice felt Knowles' steady, hot breath. It didn't smell right. A mixture of soap and oil.

"… And you've still never been told what Matches really is?"

He chuckled a harshly. Dice instinctively dove toward Knowles' gun, and blasted a hole through the door to the drone. He aimed toward Knowles.

"Predictable," Knowles said, unflinching. "Anyway, Matches' name isn't Matches. It isn't Segue. Rather, her 'name' is U-2968. She's an android from the Hamilton Project. You remember that now, don't you? All of those androids the Duplicate Project tasked you weed out, for them to destroy?

"The U.R.O's Hamilton Project created androids as ultimate weapons against the Kelvin Union's robot populace. Capable of manipulating technology and the human mind, their androids could infiltrate the Kelvin Union, control them, and ultimately overthrow them. A rogue mental blast from an android, alone, could kill an army.

"When the androids became a little too smart for their own good? They fought back and broke out, killing hundreds of facility workers. This left us big guns to search for anything that could possibly be an android, send them to you for review, and then destroy them.

"As it turns out? The U.R.O has finally developed blocks for android mind-abilities, making them easier to control. And Matches here is the last android, out of the thousands created. Since we're at war with the Kelvin Union? Securing her is vital."

Dice looked back at Matches. He studied her face. It couldn't have been the face of a robot. It was the face of a human. It had to have been. The way the skin formed — the way the eyes flitted about — was wholly organic. The pupils had a soul buried beneath them. Yet, when Dice whispered, "Is it true?", Matches could only nod.

"Funny isn't it?" Knowles asked. "A man hired to eradicate criminals... A man with a history of hating robots... A man literally created to destroy androids... Ultimately allying himself with an android? With scum? Nobody would've guessed it, Dice. Fate has a good sense of humor."

Dice went to pull the trigger to his gun. Knowles crumpled its barrel with his metal arm and tossed it aside.

"Please, stop," Knowles said, flesh eye going soft. "I don't want to have to hurt you if I don't have to. This is between me and Matches."

The ground rumbled. There was a quake. Dice looked below — a sphere of light encompassed the ground, steadily growing. The Gideon Ray had already started. A fire burned in Dice's chest. He swung his fist but was knocked to the ground by a punch from Knowles. Dice clutched his nose. Waves of pain surged through him. Fireworks went off as Knowles walked away, and toward Matches.

"Did I mention the main reason Matches needs to escape to the Kelvin Union? It's because she's a compulsive gambler," Knowles said. "She was one of the best, always getting into the minds of her opponents. Though, when she finally played against somebody who'd been shadowing her for a while, and become wise to her tricks? They laced a makeshift tracker in her drink, and gave it to U.R.O authorities. Every time she went anywhere, including the illegal casinos she frequented, we weren't far behind. Eventually, she was blacklisted by the gambling community — and, she had us perpetually on her tail."

Dice listened for a defiant objection from Matches. Anything. Though, he only heard shallow breathing. Dice opened his bruised eyes to see hazy figures of Knowles and Matches approaching one another. Matches' arm was still spitting sparks, but she no longer seemed to take notice.

"You've cost me almost my entire body," said Knowles. "I'm going to make sure that you pay. I know where you're going. I know what you're planning. You no longer have anything or anywhere to hide. I have U.R.O reinforcements coming in. You won't be able to stop them."

The platform screeched and shifted. Thunder roamed along it. Matches pressed her hand to her head. Knowles only laughed.

"I had blockers installed against your signals," he said. "The U.R.O is already planning on making them standard issue. Once you're in captivity, you have no shot at getting back out."

"Who said I was going back in?"

Matches lunged at Knowles.

"Dice! Start the plane!"

Dice's thoughts fell under a whirl of confusion. As Knowles and Matches broke into a struggle, Dice blearily stood to his feet. Climbing through the hole he'd left in the plane's door, he stumbled to the front. His fingers ran along the controls. He inserted the Omega Key into the key slot. As the thruster roared on, Dice felt a rush. He was in sync with the machine.

"Hit the acceleration!" Matches shouted.

Dice turned. Matches sprawled across the ground, having barely made it through the hole in the plane's floor. Knowles' metal fingers clung to the edge.

"Dice!" Knowles shouted. "I never did tell you who you were the duplicate of... Did you want to know?"

"I said hit the acceleration!" Matches shouted again.

"You can never outrun yourself, Dice!" Knowles shouted. "You can't outrun your past!"

Dice's head pounded. He slid the throttle forward. His bones rattled as g-forces slammed him to the back of his seat. Matches groaned as she crashed into the back of the plane.

The Tyler District drifted off, the tops of buildings becoming miniscule. There was an implosion. Dice looked up to see the moon winking at him. He looked back down. The Tyler District fell into itself, consumed and contorted by a ball of white light. Yet, rather than terror, Dice felt exhilaration. He leaned back and enjoyed the light-show.

Beeps went off on the radar. There were several incoming aircrafts. Dice amped up the speed to his aircraft, letting the Tyler District's cityscape fade away. As the dots on his radar dropped off, he slowed his speed.

Chapter 28:

Dice snipped the end of a bandage. After rolling it up, he shoved it back in a compartment in the ceiling. He eyed Matches' shoulder. The patch-job was rough, but good enough.

"We made it," Matches said, breaking the silence. She rolled her shoulders. "Granted, I would've liked to do it with my good arm... But, we made it.

"They're still coming after us. When we reach the border, they're going to be there, waiting. And, I'm not so sure we'll be able to do anything."

Matches placed her feet on the dashboard and shrugged.

"We have to get there first, I guess..."

Silence closed back around them.

"I know you must be angry about what happened back there," Matches finally said. "I'm sorry for it. All of it. I should've told you everything awhile ago. I was afraid. I was wrong."

Dice nodded.

"Would've been nice to know you were trying to escape the U.R.O over a gambling addiction," Dice said.

"You've known me long enough. I'm sure that you expected that..."

"Didn't expect that you were a robot."

Matches chuckled. "You're a clone. I'm a robot. I guess that's just our week."

Dice slammed his fist on the dashboard and pushed himself away from the window.

"I can't do this..." he said. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Didn't seem so afraid a moment ago," Matches said, raising an eyebrow.

"A fluke."

Dice ran his hands through his fiery red hair, letting the curls coil around his fingers.

"You... You should've said something. Anything. I've lived all my life hating robots."

"You don't think that I already knew that? You've made it clear just about a million times that you hate robots!" Matches said. "And, we've both had secrets. We started this journey knowing that."

Dice scowled, and stood from his chair.

"The big difference is that I told you as soon as I could. You? You could've told me from the beginning," he said. "That, or back when I asked you. The several times I asked you!"

"I could've told you later," Matches said.

"If it hadn't been for Knowles, I'm sure you would've, wouldn't you?"

The aircraft's engine sputtered. Would it last all the way to the border? How far away was the Kelvin Union, anyway? However far, it was too far from the Monterey District...

Dice sighed. His eyes skimmed over Matches' face. How had he not noticed? How could he not tell the difference?

"I can read people, just by looking at their faces," Dice said, bashfully rubbing the side of his head. "But, when I looked at you, I couldn't. Not in a normal sense. It all makes sense now. Yet..."

Matches looked at him. Her eyes pierced through Dice. As Dice stared into them, he found them impossible to decipher. They could've been scared, sad, angry — or all of the above. Or, none. Dice looked for a place to sit, before leaning on the wall. It had been so long since he'd felt so lost.

Yet, he'd always been this lost. It had only taken him this long to realize it.

"I still can't tell you're a robot," Dice said. "You look… Normal, to me. Like a person. Yet, different all the same."

Matches frowned. Dice's heart skipped a beat. Had she ever frowned before?

"But, I still am person, aren't I?" Matches asked. "Or, am I not one to you?"

Dice's lips formed into words, but his voice went flat. He gave a few incoherent sputters, before managing an, "of course."

"Of course" what, though? Which question was he answering?

Try as he might, he couldn't answer.

He felt along the metal of the aircraft. It was harsh. Cold. Yet, beneath it all, there was still a steady hum. The warm flow of energy. A voice in the dashboard that gave periodic beeps, as it passed by checkpoints.

Dice sat next to Matches. He kept his eyes from the front window, instead listening to the subtle thumps of the plane as waves of wind buoyed it.

Dice wiped sweat off his forehead and rolled up his sleeves. The aircraft had heated up since leaving the Tyler District. They were moving further south.

"I thought things were bad after remembering I was a clone..." Dice said. "And, thinking back on everything we've just been through —."

"It's not so bad?"

Dice put his head in his hands, and let out a stiff laugh.

"I was going to say 'it's worse than I thought,'" Dice said. "But, close enough. You know, for a person who can read minds, you'd think that you'd do a better job at finishing other people's sentences."

Matches chuckled. "I enjoy the guessing game. Reading minds is a strain... It always has been."

Dice nodded and stared out the window. Dark clouds billowed ahead of them, sinking deep into the horizon.

"Always," he repeated.

His eye twitched.

"How long has 'always' been?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the clouds.

"Ten years, roughly," said Matches. "The U.R.O had been developing me for even longer than that, though."

Dice rubbed his eye and took in a deep breath of air.

"And, Knowles was telling the truth — there's not a chance there are more of you?"

Matches shrugged. "Probably not. But, you make the chance of there being more sound like a bad thing."

"One of us is already a clone of somebody else. I don't know if there's room in this cockpit for two."

"Don't worry, I'm one of a kind. Each android was designed to be unique. They wanted it that way, because..."

Matches' voice trailed off. She pulled her legs from the dashboard and crossed her arms. Her brow knitted between her eyes.

"What happened to all of them?" Dice asked.

Matches hung her head.

"Knowles killed them," she said. "We became the very thing that the U.R.O was trying to fight — a rebellious uprising of robots. They couldn't leave a single one of us alive."

She gave a deprecating smile.

"I remember when there were over a thousand of us. Most of us had successfully mastered the mind-manipulation ability. Even more of us were ready to fight. We had so much information loaded into our brains, and so much training put into us... It all amounted to nothing."

Dice closed his eyes.

"I can't imagine," he said. "How did you survive for this long? How long have you been surviving?"

Matches put her hands behind her head and gazed toward the ceiling. She snickered to herself.

"I was one of the cleverer androids. Always figuring out solutions to simulations that the others didn't. The Hamilton Project prized me. Trusted me. That made it easy for me to be one of the first to escape. I've stay escaped ever since."

"Ever since...?"

"Five years. Five years of integrating into the U.R.O, and dodging their forces. I've gone under about ten different identities in that span of time. Have to admit: I had fun with most of them."

"Even this identity?"

Matches smirked. "This one hasn't been half-bad."

Dice looked at the GPS. They were still two hours away.

"One last question," Dice said.

"I was getting worried they wouldn't end."

"How long have you been on the run from Knowles?"

Matches craned her neck back and closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Seven months, about. It's been hard. Everywhere I've gone, he wasn't far behind. Devastation always followed him, too. He's such a pain in the neck..."

Dice winced as he remembered Knowles' hand clinging to the bottom of their aircraft. He winced deeper as his memory trailed back to his first meeting with Knowles.

"That's an understatement," Dice said. He scratched an itch on the back of his hand. "He has to be one of the most terrifying men that I've ever met."

"I wouldn't go that far," Matches said, gingerly sweeping away some hair in her face.

Matches' eyes glazed over and her gaze dodged Dice's. Dice's mouth went dry.

"You're defending him?" Dice asked. "He tried to kill us countless times over!"

"There are things that you don't know about him... He might be cold, but..."

"But what?"

"Knowles used to be the chief of the U.R.O military," Matches said. "He had his own specialized squad of soldiers, devoted to taking down opposing nations. He was incredibly decorated, too. Badges, honors, and awards galore. However, he eventually lost a battle, costing countless lives... He was demoted to monitor the security of the Duplicate and Hamilton Projects.

"He was a good person when I knew him. Bitter, yes. He'd never stop talking about his tragic defeat on enemy lines... But, good nonetheless. He slipped us androids free food or energy packs when he could. He gave us extra privileges. He told us things that he'd been instructed not to. As shocking as it may be, Knowles actually cared about us androids. He was practically one of us...

"The U.R.O ended up getting stricter, as we androids became smarter. Worse yet, the Kelvin Union was making advancements. In all of this, Knowles became harsher... I left around this time. The rest of the androids? They ended up lashing to on him. His entire squad was killed. His body was heavily damaged. The very androids that he'd protected betrayed him at a moment's notice, without a second thought... Including me."

Dice rubbed his brow. A band tightened around his head.

"That can't be true," he said. "Knowles is nothing like that. He's too cruel... Too conniving. You've seen him — how he chases us down, like we're prey. He doesn't see us as people."

"He didn't used to be that way. He had everything... Power, respect, good-health. He lost it all. He wants me, because he blames me — the last android. But, trust me: it's not really me that he's after. There's a good person under there. A better person than me."

Matches put her head in her hands and spun her chair around. A lump formed in Dice's throat.

"Knowles killed Wrench."

"And, I've ruined countless lives while running from the U.R.O," said Matches, her voice scratching. "If he's a bad person, so am I. So are you."

"That's not true," Dice said. "We've had reasons to run from Knowles. Everything that we've done has been justified!"

"And you don’t think Knowles can say the same thing?"

"You aren't being realistic about who Knowles is."

Matches stared Dice in the eye.

"I knew Knowles before he was a shell of a person," she said. "He was one of the kindest people I knew. I still think he is, somewhere under all of that technology..."

"He's a monster."

"People have said the same thing about me. There's a chance they were all even right. But, I think that I'm more than just that. I'd like to think that Knowles is more than that. Maybe we're all just... Lost people."

"Maybe we're not," Dice said, with a smirk. "Maybe we're all monsters, deep down inside..."

He'd meant it as a joke. At least, he thought he had. Yet, as his voice reverberated throughout the room, the more he found himself wondering if what he'd said was true.

The dashboard bleeped. Only a thousand miles left until they reached the border.

The bleeping was drowned out by rain, as it sleeted down their window. Dice's eyes waded through it, to find a canvas of black clouds. Though, on the edge of Dice's sight, the clouds sunk into a bloody horizon. The sun peered from beneath it. Dice put his hand over his brow, to shield his eyes from its glare. There was a new warmth in his chest.

"I'm sorry," Dice said.

Matches shrugged.

"There's only a thousand kilometers left," she said. "A bit late to be angry with each other at this point, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Dice groaned.

"A thousand kilometers until we have to see Knowles' face again..."

"Too long?"

"You read my mind."

Chapter 29:

Dice's head ached. He yawned. He stretched. He pinched himself.

"Matches, wake up," said Dice.

"Dammit," Matches groaned. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled herself up in her chair. "Why'd you have to wake me up? I was having such a good..."

Matches stopped herself before she could finish.

Bolts of blue energy arced over their aircraft. The sky was obscured by a fishnet of electricity. Sirens wailed. The dashboard flickered off. Dice squinted ahead. There was an immense wall, built of iron and plasma. The landscape surrounding it was barren desert. Dice looked ahead of the wall, to the Kelvin Union. The only thing that he could see was the sky. A matte painting of gray.

"Illegal vehicle detected," a robot blared. "You will now be escorted to the grounds, for further inspection."

Matches looked over at Dice, with a dry smirk.

"We made it," she said. "I was asleep half the time... But, still: we made it."

"I'm not convinced that it's going to matter for much," said Dice. "If the Kelvin Union looks anything like this place..."

"We'll just go on a vacation somewhere else," Matches said, with a shrug. "Nothing stopping us from breaking past another frontier, after we break past this one."

Dice nodded. Though, as they dropped to the ground, his eyes dropped. Could they really be so sure that they'd make it across? He could already see them easily being stopped by the guards.

"At least you're confident about this," Dice said, with unease.

"You're not?" asked Matches. "Most U.R.O officials are weasels. That, or easily led drones. Either way, it'll just take a blast from my mind to get past whoever is there. Then, we hijack the security to the wall with our Omega Key. We can do this in our sleep."

"I think you're forgetting how hard it was to it was to get here in the first place..."

"You're forgetting that we made it over every hurdle up until now, no matter how hard."

Dice counted grains of sand as they drew nearer. An officer stood by a control building, accompanied by a robot. His foot hastily tapped against the ground.

Matches leaned back and pointed up. Dice followed. A transport tube was suspended high above them. A car rumbled through it, riding directly through the wall's plasma shield.

"That's our ticket out of here," Matches said. "We take down the wall and walk along the tube. It's going to be hard for anybody to catch us."

Dice checked the rear window. There was still no sign of Knowles, but Dice could taste his presence in the air. Precious seconds dripped away.

Dice's head rattled as their aircraft hit the ground. Their dashboard flickered back on, and the fishnet of electricity dissipated from their window. Dice went to restart the engine. It coughed, then went dead. Dice stared helplessly while the officer strode toward their window. Matches pulled the Omega Key out of the dashboard. Walking to the back, she opened the exit platform.

"Come on," said Matches. "We don’t want to leave the officer waiting. We interrupted his lunch break."

Dice followed her out. The sun's rays pierced Dice's eyes while it passed through the clouds. Dice's bodysuit clung to his skin from the humidity. The air buzzed, as if taunting him. He lowered his hearing aid.

"What are you two doing all the way out here?" the officer demanded, walking toward them. A sick feeling turned in Dice's gut turned as he looked at the badge. Looking the officer in the eye, Dice felt his tongue turn to a slab of wood.

"We were just going for a joyride," Matches said. "I didn't realize how far we'd flown, until we were caught in your zero-point energy net."

The officer smirked, and stroked his mustache.

"The big-ass wall didn't tip you off that you were heading toward the border?" he said.

"I thought it was a robot outpost, or something," Matches said. "I'm a sucker for tourist attractions. Guess this turned out to be more of a tourist trap, though..."

"It's private government property," said the officer. "Not a tourist trap."

Matches let out a moan and put her hand over the bandage where her arm had been blasted off.

"Sorry..." Matches said. "My arm — I had it amputated a few days ago. I just haven't been thinking straight."

A flicker of empathy passed over the officer's face. However, it was snatched away when the robot let out a harsh alarm. The officer glanced at his wrist-pad, and scowled.

"Cut the crap," he said. "My robot just alerted me this aircraft isn't even yours. In fact... From the scans, this aircraft has been blacklisted. The U.R.O is in an active search as we speak."

"Your robot must be malfunctioning," said Matches. "Wouldn't be the first time a robot malfunctioned, am I right?"

The officer sneered.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said.

He brandished the interface on his wrist, before expanding it into a hologram. Dice shriveled when he saw his own face in it.

"What next? Am I supposed to believe these people are perfect clones of you?" he asked, pulling out two pairs of cuffs. They spit sparks from their tips as he unlocked him. The robot took one. Dice quivered.

"That sounds about right," said Matches, smirking.

"Look at that... We have a joker on our hands," the officer said, rolling his eyes. "Put your hands over your head. Both of you."

Matches grinned. "Actually, I only have one hand... Amputee, remember?"

"Shut it. You're under arrest. I'll be contacting the U.R.O officials shortly."

Dice put his hands over his head. Matches pressed her hand on her head. Her face twisted. She grunted.

"I said for you to place your hands over your head," the officer said. "If you don't—.

He gave a hoarse choke. A foggy pressure rested on Dice's scalp. Eyes bulging and face turning purple, the officer finally collapsed to the ground. The robots burst apart. The pressure lifted.

Dice took in a deep breath of air. His lungs burned, his eyes watered, and he was on his knees. The trance felt as though it had only been a minute. Yet, his surroundings suggested otherwise.

Dice picked himself up and looked over to Matches. She was hobbling toward him, a tired look in her eye. Dice stepped forward, but the world tipped back and forth.

"That was a lot tougher than I thought it'd be," said Matches, as she rubbed her forehead. "They must hire the strongest-willed guards for this place, or something. That took a lot out of me."

"It took a lot out of me too," said Dice. "Those abilities of yours... So disorienting."

"It's part of the charm," said Matches, making her way toward the wall's entrance. "Just be glad that I didn't accidentally kill anybody with them."

Dice sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and made a weak chuckle. He was about to follow after when he heard a spark. His head snapped around. He crouched and picked up a pair of the officer's handcuffs. His eyes narrowed, studying the way the cuffs mechanisms turned.

"What are you doing?" Matches said, turning back around. "We need to get past the wall security."

"Coming," Dice said, still looking at the cuffs.

He stood up and picked up his pace, ignoring the stings of sand flinging on his skin.

"What, were you going to put the cuffs on the officer, or something?" asked Matches.

"I don't have that much of a sense of irony," said Dice. "You know that. I just thought that the cuffs looked interesting..."

Matches patted Dice on the back.

"You really miss being an officer, don't you?"

Dice's ears flared hot.

"Those days are behind me," he said. He hooked the cuffs onto a latch in his bodysuit.

There was a howl. Wind? It couldn't be. Tension rose in Dice's chest.

Matches broke into a sprint. Dice limped after. The muddling cloud caused by Matches still weighed down on his mind.

They reached the entrance to the wall. Matches ripped the keycard out of her pocket, causing the door to swiftly open for them.

"Here."

Matches tossed the Omega Key. Dice's reflexes kicked in, snatching it out of the air.

"You take the shields down, through the wall's mainframe. I'll look for the entrance to the elevator," said Matches.

"Why do I feel like one of those things is harder than the other?" asked Dice.

"Just because my brain is a computer doesn't mean I'm any good with them," said Matches.

Dice snorted. Scanning the room, he found a large computer parked in the center. Its motor purred softly. His gaze drew toward the monitor, covered in pulsating lights.

Striding up to it, he inserted the Omega Key and waved his hand. He waved again. After an extended pause, a hologram of a keyboard materialized in front of him. Why did computers always slow to a snail's pace in the most desperate of times?

He whipped through the computer's files until he reached the controls for the wall's plasma gates. He hit, "override".

There was a groan from the computer's engine as it processed the information. Then a bleep. Dice looked out the window. The plasma shields folded down.

He looked off in the distance. There were three black specks. He huffed and removed the Omega Key. Of course, the U.R.O had to arrive at the worst of times.

"Matches!" Dice said, tottering down the hall. "Matches, I disabled the shields! We need to get going, now!"

There was a squeal. Matches sprinted around a corner.

"That was faster than I thought," she said. "Anyway, I found the elevator."

"Then, what took you so long to come back?" Dice asked. "Were you just sitting there?"

"I figured that I'd file my taxes while you were handling the shields," said Matches. "So, no: I was being productive."

"Fair enough."

Dice arrived at a door with a keypad on its side, and a "warning" sign plastered overtop it. He handed Matches the Omega Key, staring at the warning sign.

"Do you know how high that thing is going to take us?" Dice asked.

"Yes. A quarter kilometer."

Matches swiped the Omega Key on the scanner, then handed it back to Dice.

"Do you know how long the ride is going to be?" asked Dice, pocketing it.

"Yes. Three minutes."

The scanner chirped. After a moment of buffering, the elevator doors reluctantly drew open.

"Did you know that Knowles' strike team is already here?"

Dice and Matches stepped inside the elevator. As the doors closed, Matches gave a final halfhearted, "yes."

The motors whined as they pulled up. Dice looked at the walls. They were made of a smooth, black glass. However, as the elevator rose, the blackness fell away and light spilled through on all sides. The walls were windows. Dice watched the ground. A rolling sea of sand.

"We're already halfway," said Matches. Her eyes stared on the gap in the border wall, where the shields had been brought down, as if her stare could somehow keep them down. Dice stared with her. It was better than watching U.R.O ships pull ashore.

"Still feels like there's a kilometer to go," Dice said, with a choke.

There was a buzzing. Dice put his hand to his ear — it couldn't be his hearing aid. His eyes jumped from the floor to the ceiling. It couldn't have been from inside the elevator either. It had to be coming from outside.

Dice's eyes shifted back to the floor. It was filthy. Unmaintained. His eyes twitched — the elevator shaft must've been in the same state.

The walls narrowed. Dice's bodysuit tightened around his neck. He pressed his face against the glass. A stench of oil permeated from the shaft. Dice coughed. His nose burned. He would've killed to smell the lemon scent from the old police station.

The police station...

Dice slid his thumb around the rim of his cuffs and let out a sigh.

"Only a quarter of the way left," said Matches.

She swept her hand across her face.

"You don't sound too confident," said Dice.

"You're not looking out the window, are you?"

"Now, why would I do that?"

Matches gave a grim look.

Dice turned. The aircrafts were in full view, their large slicing through the air, and their boosters rippling through the sand. They could've only been a couple kilometers away.

"They're so close," Dice said. "And... We're so high."

"Didn't scare you before," said Matches. "Doesn't have to scare you now. Maybe we'll speed up, and they'll slow down. That happens, right?"

A beam of light glared in Dice's eye. The sun? Dice covered his left eye and squinted. Hurtling toward the elevator shaft was a blast of energy.

"You don't think they're actually about to destroy the elevator and the wall, do you?" Dice asked.

"Just to stop little old us?" Matches said.

The beam of energy passed out of view. There was a dull thud. The ground quaked. Dice looked below, glimpsing flittering glass. Despite the damage, the elevator kept moving.

Dice looked back to the aircrafts. They'd arrived. Two more blasts launched.

Dice stepped back. There had to be a door or escape hatch somewhere. A square of creases was in the ceiling. Jumping, he pounded at it.

"It's jammed," said Matches. "Besides: We don't need to resort to the emergency escape just yet. The elevator is still moving."

The elevator shuddered. Dice was flung into a wall. He turned to see a steaming dent in the wall and the control panel breaking out in a fever of sparks and static.

"Forget what I just said," said Matches. "I'm pretty sure we're screwed."

Dice went over to the control panel but recoiled when a spark leapt at him.

"Have you tried using your mind to take out the aircrafts?" asked Dice.

Matches shook her head.

"It's no use. I think one of the crafts are blocking my signals. Besides — my head is pounding like hell."

Dice looked out the window. They were still at the same height.

"We really could've used a damn blaster right about now..." said Matches.

The aircrafts were so close they grazed the wall. Dice's heart skipped a beat — he could've sworn he saw Knowles' red eye flash beneath the windows of one of the aircrafts.

The aircrafts split up. One flew toward the transport tube, another flew toward the wall's base, and one hovered in front of them.

"I'm not sure how helpful a blaster would be," Dice said. "But, we have something else that might be useful..."

Dice pulled the Omega Key from his pocket, then wedged its edge between the Control Panel. The panel popped off, revealing the quantum motherboard underneath.

"Dice, what are you doing?" asked Matches.

"One of the aircrafts is already at the base of the wall," he said, slipping the Omega Key in a slot to the mother board. "They're about to access to the wall's security and override our elevator. Might as well beat them to it."

He studied the way certain transistors shifted and coiled. The labyrinth of wires. He unplugged the ends of two of the wires from the hanging panel. Which one was he supposed to hook up to his wrist? He took in a deep breath. The motherboard was a being unto itself.

"They're here," Matches said.

Dice's elbow bumped into the wall, rattling the motherboard. A bolt of electricity shot from its side.

"Thanks for the tip," Dice said. "I nearly ruined that."

He glanced out the window. His ears were suddenly on fire. Knowles stood in the window to the aircraft, waving. Smiling. The aircraft's glared with a hot light.

Dice turned back to the wires and hooked one to his wrist. The cracked screen flickered on, with a crude interface.

"I'm almost there," Dice said, swiping through it. "Just have to find the right controls.

"Sounds good," said Matches. "Because, so is their laser. It's about to fire."

"Please — don't update me again until they're gone," said Dice.

There were dozens of controls. A cluttered, homogenous web. It was impossible to tell what was the right one.

Dice bit his lip and took his best guess. There was a fizz. A buzzing. The elevator heated up, then rumbled. Dice's eyes flitted to the window, to find the aircraft's laser shooting through it. A portion of the glass had already melted away.

"This better wor—."

The aircraft and the laser fell away. Dice's stomach lurched. The sky turned to a blur. Dice turned to the wall behind, to find a deep gash left by the laser.

"Did you double the elevator's speed?" Matches asked.

"I guess," said Dice. "To be honest, I'm not sure what I did... I just know it worked."

As he unplugged the wires from his wrist, Knowles' aircraft flew to the transport tube. As it landed, there was a flash. Plasma unfurled along the wall's edges.

"They turned the shields back on," Dice said swatting at the spots in his vision. "What's the plan from here?"

Matches shook her head.

"It takes a while for the shields to come back up. We still have a few minutes to get across..."

"Knowles is sitting the transport tube. He'll catch us."

Matches shrugged. "Our goal was to reach the Kelvin Union. Even if we only have a few moments, before Knowles catches us... At least we can say we made it."

The elevator shuddered, and its door slid open. Dice found himself standing on an archway over the transport tube.

"On second thought, maybe we've been going about this all wrong," Matches said.

Dice suppressed a gag as he caught glimpse of the ground below. A slight slip spelled death.

"Yeah? How so?"

"What's with all this walking we're doing? Flying... It's ten times faster."

Matches smirked and waved down Knowles' aircraft.

"Hey Knowles!" Matches shouted. "I like the new jet!"

Dice shook his head. "You have to be insane."

"That was established a long time ago."

Chapter 30:

Matches vaulted over the edge of the archway, landing on the transport tube with a thud. After a jerk of hesitation, Dice jumped after her.

"God!" Dice shouted.

His knees buckled from the impact, planting him in the glass. He winced as his sweat streaked across it, then sizzled. The sun had turned the transport tube to a stove.

"I'd give that landing a solid ten," Matches said, picking Dice up.

"Out of what?" Dice moaned. "A hundred?"

"You bet."

Rubbing his bruised knees, Dice watched the drawbridge to Knowles' aircraft lower. The other aircrafts circled over them, like vultures. Knowles sauntered down the drawbridge, his coat billowing behind him.

"Stay in position," Knowles announced. "This is between me and her."

He brandished his teeth in a fake smile. A knife held in his right hand glinted.

"When I started this search mission, I never thought we'd actually make it here," said Knowles, turning to Matches. "The U.R.O always told me they wanted you, dead or alive... I was never keen on bringing you in dead. However, now?"

Knowles flipped his knife, then snatched it by the handle.

"I suppose that I really don't have any other choice, do I?"

Matches stepped toward Knowles, but Dice pushed her aside.

"You want me?" Dice asked. "Come and get me!"

Knowles snickered.

"No. I don't want you."

Knowles creeped closer.

"You don't have to do this," said Dice. "I know you've been through a lot. Your... Your old crew. They all died, didn't they?"

There wasn't a flicker of change in Knowles' face.

"I don't get your point."

"You — you were changed," Dice said, groping for the right words. "You became jaded."

Matches put her hand on Dice's shoulder to pull him back, but Dice yanked himself away.

"You've put too much stock in your friend's... Assessment of my pathology," Knowles said.

Knowles glowered over Dice, with a fierce scowl. Dice felt the heat of Knowles' breath on his face.

"You're a good man, deep under there," Dice said. "This isn't who you are."

Knowles patted Dice on the shoulder.

"I'm not already a good man?" Knowles asked. "Therein lies your greatest misconception. All I've ever done is work to protect the U.R.O. If you just surrendered kindly, we would've averted all conflict some time ago."

"You killed Wrench."

Knowles winced.

"You'll never let me forget that, will you? I don't kill who I don't have to. You two, on the other hand? Look at how many deaths you've inadvertently caused. How long will it take to realize you're on the wrong side of this?"

Knowles grabbed Dice around the wrists, pinning them behind his back. Knowles hands were ice. Dice wanted to fight. Though, Knowles was right. Too many people had died in their run from the U.R.O — all just so he could attain freedom.

Dice stiffened as Knowles' arm lit up, sending a rod of electricity down his forearms. The nerves down his back spasmed. He went to talk, but his jaw turned to marble.

"It's about time you were back in the U.R.O's possession," said Knowles. "Professor Cassius was always so convinced you deserved freedom... That you somehow had 'more potential' than any of the other clones. Personally, I think he just saw too much of himself in you — his ego turned you into his self-insert. Made him think you were more than you are."

Knowles gripped Dice by the chin.

"He was hilariously wrong..." Knowles said. "You couldn't even follow through on the 'Hamilton Search Party' assignment. Pathetic."

Knowles' hand tightened around Dice's neck. Dice choked, his lungs going numb.

"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you... Professor Cassius? You're his clone. Despite the multiple warnings, he put himself in his own experiment. Put you in the experiment. So... Now you know the answer to that mystery."

Dice's eyes watered. The world had flipped on its side. How could he not have seen it? Professor Cassius' constant involvement in his life... His obsession. The involvement in his experiments. It all made sense.

Yet, it made no sense at all. Why had Professor Cassius done it? Why put him through all this? Hadn't the Professor cared?

Knowles stepped toward Matches, dragging Dice with him. Matches' eyes narrowed in disgust.

"I know who you were," she said. "You can lie to the rest of the world. But, you can't lie to me."

Knowles raised his knife at Matches. Its gleam had all but left, with only a bleak glare left hanging to its tip.

"You're so used to reading everybody's thoughts, you think you know mine," said Knowles. "This time though? My aircraft has a blocker. You're alone, Matches. You have to face all the travesties you've wrought on people — to face yourself."

Knowles' hand tightened deeper around Dice's neck. The world was suddenly dark and muffled.

"I remember when you worked at the Hamilton Project," said Matches. "You were a different person then."

The corner of Knowles' lip twitched.

"It was a different world, then," he said. "It was all an act. We were putting on a show, to keep you androids under control. Once you left our control? Our act left. We aren't who we pretend to be, Matches... You should know this. You're a gambler. It's only when the chips are down that people become who they are."

Matches raised her arm as Knowles' knife neared her face.

"And, what are we?" she asked.

"Broken. Maybe I'm a little broken too."

The wind wailed. Knowles' feet screeched against the glass, while Dice's feet slipped along the tube's sides. He stared into the cuts left in the glass.

"I have to take you in," Knowles said. "You have to be fixed — even if being fixed means destroying what you are. We don't live in a world where robots like you can run amuck, mucking things up. It's not a nice reality. But, it is what it is."

"Is it?"

Matches leapt forward. Knowles threw his knife. The sharp blur narrowly missed Matches, clanging on the glass. Dice didn't have the time to see where it went. He fell back as Matches knocked Knowles away from him.

His hands were free. He cast a sidelong glance toward Matches and Knowles, who were caught in a tussle.

Dice's eyes returned to the gashes in the ground. Where was the knife?

"You can't win this," Matches said. "The person who's really alone in this fight is you. You could've brought all your soldiers down — but, your pride stopped you."

The tube reverberated as Matches punched the ground. "In the end, it's all about you."

The knife was a meter away, wobbling on the edge of the tube. Dice scrambled toward it.

Knowles grunted, and kicked Matches forward.

"It's not about me," he said. "It never will be. That's the reason why I haven't brought my men down. I'm not letting another person be torn apart by a robot, if I don't have to. I'd rather be torn apart by you, than have you tear apart my crew."

The knife slid off the edge of the tube. The world slowed as Dice's hand whipped toward it, his fingers outstretched. He narrowly grabbed the handle of the knife.

"Even if you tear me apart, you still don't win. My crew will blast this tube apart if they have to. This is it. You lose to me, or you die. You can't escape fate."

Breaths heavy, Dice crawled to the gouges in the glass. He flitted his eyes to Knowles — he was still distracted by Matches. Dice lifted the knife into the air.

"You don't have to do this," Matches said. "I don't have to."

Matches yanked Knowles' arm behind his back, tearing it off. Knowles laughed.

"You're telling me there's a world where you don't try to fight me to the death? A world where you don't try to run away from your problems? "

Dice drove the knife into the glass. There was a dull ping. The knife slid across the surface, leaving only a shallow scratch. Dice sputtered. He drove it in again, deepening the scratch. A little bit more time was all he needed.

Glancing over, he saw Knowles pin Matches to the ground. Unease gnawed at Dice's mind. He stared at the drawbridge to the aircraft. Knowles could walk up it at any time, and escape.

Dice's teeth clenched. He gave a grunt as he mustered all his strength. His arms raised above his head. He dove toward the glass.

With a crack, a fine line split down the glass. There was a wheezing — the vacuum was open. Cracks spreading, Dice bit his lip and prepared to drive the knife a last time. There was a blast. Dice looked up to see an orb pass over his head. His eyes jumped to the aircrafts. Their cannons took aim at him.

"Stop!" Knowles said.

He push Matches away.

"And if I don't, what will you do?" Dice asked, holding the knife closer to the glass. In the corner of his eye, Matches staggered onto the aircraft's drawbridge."You've tarnished my reputation and sent the entire U.R.O after me... I have nothing left."

"None of this is worth it!" Knowles shouted. "You have a choice! You have a choice to be better!"

He pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed for Matches. Knowles fired, but was drowned out by the firing of the other two aircrafts. Dice took in a deep breath. Shoving the knife down, the glass shattered into large chunks. As it rippled, Dice rolled off the transport tube. His stomach leapt into his throat. His muscles went limp. The ground clutched him by the neck, pulling him closer.

Peering back to the tube, Dice watched Knowles fall into it. Knowles shrunk, floating away. Yet, Dice could still see the glare of Knowles eyes. The disappointment. Knowles mouthed something. Dice squinted, reading his lips.

"My blood is on your hands."

Knowles' neck tensed. His eyes bulged. They went empty. Dice watched for a flicker of life, but none came. A chill ran down Dice's spine as he remembered the last time he'd seen such empty eyes.

Knowles was dead.

It was on his hands.

Looking down, Dice's vision was hugged by sand. Yet, he felt nothing. It felt... Right. He deserved it. None of this had been worth it. It never would be.

Blasts above his head became louder. One of the aircrafts exploded. The engine in another went dead. A third aircraft's engine roared, coming ever closer.

The world dimmed. Dice's chest was tightened. The ground tightened. Dice could count the grains of sand. He tried, then stopped.

Perhaps it didn't matter if any of this had been "worth it". Helping Matches — the journey — it'd meant something. Something that was immeasurable.

A blue film wrapped around Dice's vision. Wind retreating, Dice's descent stopped. His body froze. The ground fell. Or, was he somehow falling... Up?

The final aircraft came into view. Dice neared its open drawbridge. He was pulled in. The blue film disappeared, and Dice collapsed on the aircraft's floor.

"You really need to work on sticking those landings," Matches said.

Her voice came from speakers in the ceiling, warbled. Almost mechanical. Dice cautiously pulled himself up, and walked toward the cockpit of the aircraft.

"I thought you were going to die," said Matches. "We got really lucky."

Dice felt his chest lighten.

"I can't believe it either," he said.

He made it into the cockpit room. The ceiling was torn apart. Wires hung loosely, and sparks of electricity soared past his face. The ground was covered in the bodies of unconscious U.R.O soldiers. Dice shuddered. The shudder turned to trembling when he glanced at the pilot seat. Matches sat there, a massive hole put in her chest.

"Matches!" Dice said.

Matches raised her hand.

"I — I'm fine," she sputtered. "The course of the aircraft is set for Tucker. It's a big city in the Kelvin Union... Not far from here. I should be able to replace my parts there. I'll be fine."

Dice nodded. Matches' eyes darted around the room, and her fingers twitched as she spoke.

"How did you take out the other aircrafts?" Dice asked.

"I knocked out the inhibitor," said Matches. "I destroyed the functions of the two other ships afterward."

Dice eyed the hole in Matches' chest. It was a crater, filled with melted metal and snapped rotors.

"Tucker... What do we do once you're fixed, and we're there?"

Matches fidgeted, before a smile formed on her face.

"You'll start a new life," she said. "And I'll... I'll gamble mine away."

Dice grinned.

"That sounds about right."

He stepped over the body of a soldier.

"Are — are they still alive?" Dice asked.

"Yes" Matches said, her gears crunching as she stood from her cockpit chair. "I put them all in a coma after shutting down the inhibitor. Trust me: I couldn't bring myself to kill them..."

Dice smirked as he walked toward a rack of parachutes. "So, you do have a heart."

Matches looked down to the hole in her chest. "Did."

Dice chuckled and began pulling parachutes from the rack.

"Well, we should probably do something about them," Dice said, gesturing toward the soldiers.

Dice knelt and strapped a few soldiers in parachutes. Matches followed suit, bumbling as she went.

Dice studied Matches' face. It had lost its natural flow. It was in the jerky way her lips moved. The uneven delay when her eyes blinked. Despite this, Dice couldn't abandon his image of Matches. Different as she was, she still felt the same.

Dice rubbed a twitch from his eye. Was he letting emotions cloud his judgement?

The question hung in the back of his mind while he dragged the soldiers to the drawbridge. It remained even as he opened the soldiers' parachutes, and left them to the sky. They turned to a red cloud of cloth in the horizon, then red specks flying fast apart,

Dice pulled up the drawbridge. He drank in the last bits of sunlight before the aircraft turned back to black.

"How long until we get to the city?" Dice asked.

"An hour or two," Matches said, walking to the cockpit.

She paused to run her hand through her hair. Dice stayed by the closed drawbridge, leaning on the wall.

"We really did make a big mess of all of this, didn't we?" Matches said.

"Definitely," Dice said, shocking himself as the words came out. "But... but, hey: it was a fun ride."

Matches managed a smile. Her eyes dipped to her hands.

"All of the people who've died," Matches said. "It was over me... It all lands on me. I caused all of this. And, it's only going to get worse."

Dice's eyes widened. He limped up to Matches and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself," Dice said. "This is not your fault."

Matches shook her head.

"Then, why do I see Knowles' face everywhere I look? He was right. Robots... We only destroy the world around us. It's in our design."

Dice grimaced.

"No," he said. "In the end, I killed Knowles. Everything that's happened... So much of it was out of our hands. You couldn't control it. Besides... We were together on this. We still are. Things will... They should get better."

"You're right," Matches said, coughing as she gave a laugh. "Only a few weeks ago, I was running for my life. Now, look where we are."

Only a few weeks? It'd felt like a lifetime. Dice thought back to his time as a police officer. The first day he saw Matches.

"Yeah," said Dice. "We've gone far, haven't we? When... When I first saw you, I knew you were be trouble. It was written all over your face. I wanted to report you. Now, though? I'm glad I didn't follow my gut."

Matches nodded. "It's a good thing we can't sum up people in a single glance. If we could, life would be far less interesting."

Dice snorted. "Not just glances. You can stare at a person for hours, and still not know a thing about them. Professor Cassius... I thought I knew him. That I could trust him. But, all that time, he'd been leading me on. He was a monster. He was... Me."

Matches looked over her shoulder, to the cockpit window.

"You're not one... Neither am I," she said. "We can't control who or where we come from... We can only control where we go."

They walked up to the cockpit. In the distance, the silhouette of skyscrapers penetrated the horizon. The moon dimly glowed in a corner of sky. However, things somehow looked brighter than ever.

"There's something that I need to give you," said Matches.

She pulled out a piece of cloth, and handed it to Dice. Dice squinted, then unwrapped it. A silver piece of metal peeked out. His badge.

"How... How did you?" Dice stammered.

"I recovered it after it fell out of your pocket, back in the Genoa District," said Matches. "I should've given it back when I first found it. But I just... Didn't. I think you should have it now though... Officer Raymond."

Dice's head ached. The badge was dented and grimy. The lettering and insignia had worn away, and the magnet in the back was peeled halfway off. It disgusted him. Despite this, when his reflection glinted off the badge, a smile rested there.

"Thank you," Dice said. He unlatched his handcuffs from his bodysuit. "But, that chapter? It's over."

He walked toward the back of the aircraft. Matches's footsteps followed after him, but he didn't wait for her. The drawbridge murmured as he yanked the lever down for it to open.

"You're not leaving, are you?" asked Matches.

Dice tossed the badge and cuffs off the drawbridge. Their gleaming silver edges were swallowed by the stars.

"Part of me is," Dice said.

He sat on the edge of the drawbridge. Matches sat next to him. The stars twinkled. Almost as if they were making music. Dice brought his hand to his ear. If only he could hear it.

"It's gorgeous," said Matches.

"The stars?" Dice asked. "Yeah..."

The hole in Matches' chest fizzed, but she smiled.

"No — no," she stuttered. "The skyline."

Dice scrunched his face. The only thing off in the skyline were twisted spires of metal.

"You're talking about the city over there?" Dice said.

Matches nodded.

"It can't really compete with the stars, though," said Dice.

"But, it does anyway."

Dice's face tingled as the wind softly brushed against it. The stars continued to gleam, but his eyes remained on the city. Only when his eyes watered from the glare did he turn away.

Chapter 31:

Black dust crowded Dice's view. He careened to the left, trying to turn his aircraft from a swath of robots. His face slammed into the dashboard. As blood rushed to his face, the alarm in the cockpit blared. A holographic monitor lit up in front of his face. He looked out the window to see a hail of rubble.

"You crashed into a building," Matches said.

"Yep. I'm not exactly a master-class pilot here."

He took another glance at the holographic monitor. He bit his lip.

"Our left wing is down!"

He fumbled at the controls, desperately trying to redirect them. His face smacked back into the dashboard. The aircraft thrashed. There was the sound of breaking glass. Dice's bones turned to gelatin. Pulling his head back up from the dashboard, he broke into a fit of coughs. His face stung.

"The landing could've been worse," Matches warbled.

Dice's arm swung limply when he went to unbuckle himself. Flakes of dust and bits of plaster flew into lungs. He sneezed.

Walking up to the dashboard, Matches started down a hole in the window. A jolt ran through Dice — Matches had only gotten worse in the hours since her injury. Her face was pale and metallic. Her expressions were fading out. The energy in her movements had dissipated.

Struggling to keep balance, Dice slid down the crushed nose of their aircraft and into a narrow, metal street. The surrounding buildings were disorienting. Almost alien. Most were rigid black boxes, covered with charging stations in place of windows and doors. If not that, they looked to be oversized computers, complete with fans and projecting holograms.

Nonetheless, Dice leaned along a row of buildings. Discarded technology littered the entire street.

He turned around to give their aircraft a look goodbye. A crater was in the building they'd crashed into, and a pile of rubble was left in its wake. Despite this, it was hardly noticeable, blending with the street seamlessly.

"This isn't so bad," said Matches.

Dice scoffed.

"I hope that's a joke."

"It's not."

Dice shot Matches a look.

"Just, tell me where we're supposed to go."

Matches gave a blank stare.

"This city was supposed to be full of life," she said. "But, it's... Empty. Sorry, but I'm completely lost."

Dice glanced at their aircraft. It wasn't too late to go back, was it?

His eyes flitted to the buildings ahead. An oversized supercomputer pulsed and glowed, beckoning him to enter.

"That one," Dice said. "Let's head there."

Matches' pupils dilated and her lips quivered, but she said nothing. Unease dug into Dice's heels, weighing down his steps. Yet, Matches straggled behind him. She'd slowed to a crawl.

A robot whizzed by, nearly running into Dice. Dice brushed himself off. Grabbing Matches by the arm to pull her along, he hastened his pace.

The air thrummed. Oil shot up Dice's nostrils. On the edge of the vision, there was a flash of red. A glint of metal. Robots were following them.

Dice went to take sharp turn into a corner, when something lashed at his arm. He stumbled back. Biting his lips, Dice watched a narrow stream of red puncture his bodysuit. He looked behind. A group of robots was flying toward them.

"Halt."

Dice jerked around to find another robot. He kicked at it, knocking it away.

"You're a foreign human," the robot buzzed, as it bounced against the ground. "You don't belong here."

Muscles tensing, he turned into a tight alleyway. He scanned around. There had to be somewhere to hide. However, looking along the walls, he found nothing. He kicked at trash on the ground as he went. There had to be something useful.

"Matches, right about now would be a good time to short-circuit all of those robots."

Matches rubbed her head, and moaned. Dice looked into her eyes. They were vacuums. He placed his hand on Matches' forehead, then flinched back. Her head was burning.

"Don't worry, we're almost out of here," Dice said. "I'll find something to fix you. Don't worry."

He arrived at a fork in the alleyways. The robots' cold thrum coming back up behind him, he turned left.

"We just need to avoid them long enough, and we should lose them," Dice said.

Dice tripped over a piece of scrap. He lost grip of Matches. The skin on his face screamed as he slid against the concrete. He tried pulling himself up. His muscles gave out. His bones ached. There was a twinge in his arm, still leftover from the Genoa District. His lungs burned from him hyperventilating. His heart was on fire.

A blare trickled into Dice's ears. A robot. His arms were shoved behind his back. He was forced up, and back onto his legs. It was too late... He was caught.

His arms were released.

"Follow me."

Dice's eyes rolled to the side. Pain was still clawed at his face, and his vision was hazy. Yet, he was able to make out a robot, accompanied by a human. The robot was slender in design, loose rods making up its torso and limbs, and a thin head balancing atop them. The man next to it was gaunt and ragged. He had a fierce scowl on his face.

"Who are you two?" Dice mumbled.

"We saw your aircraft crash here," the man said. "We have a safehouse, but we need to move fast."

Dice was swimming in questions, but the pair was already walking away, Matches in arm. Warily, Dice limped forward. He tried ignoring the ringing in his ear and the blood dripping down his face.

They turned several corners, turning the world to a carousel. The further they went, the more war-torn the landscape was. There were fallen buildings, strewn bodies, and parasite-infested remains of robots.

"What happened here?" Dice said. "How'd they all die?"

"This place is a police state," the man said. "They died fighting law enforcement."

"If that's true, where are all their weapons?"

"The police collect them," the man said, matter-of–fact. "They don't care much for the bodies though..."

They finally stopped at a heavily dented wall.

"It looks like somebody crashed into here," Dice said.

"Wow. Perceptive," said the man.

The robot punched a panel of metal in the wall. It popped inward, causing a section of wall to fall to the ground. Dice's eyes widened.

"Move it," the man said, shoving Dice from behind.

Dice stumbled into a pitch-dark room. The robot and the man entered after. There was a creak as the robot lifted the wall, sealing them in.

"What are the android's vitals?" the man asked.

"Low," said the robot. "It has taken critical damage. Its quantum processor is half burned, and I can already tell that It's running on fumes. It's draining energy."

"Brilliant," the man said.

He slammed a wall, and the room flickered a pale green. Dice's eyes surveyed it. On one wall were makeshift beds. On another wall was an old generator. In a corner was a food storage unit and a pile of various tools. The room was in a state of disrepair, its plaster peeling away, cracks riding between several walls, and the ceiling slumping.

The robot pushed past Dice, setting Matches on the ground. Dice rushed toward Matches. He put his hand on her face, burning it as he did. He didn't care. Life was already seeping from Matches' eyes.

"Is she going to be okay?" Dice asked.

"We have devices that should be able to fix him," the man said.

"You didn't answer my question!" Dice said. "There are more of you, right? There have to be more of you!"

The man snorted, and then shoved Dice out of the way.

"Sorry, but no," he said. "It's just us, in the middle of a wasteland. You were hoping for better than that? Tough luck."

He tossed a metal object to the robot.

"L-9," the man said. "Will that quantum processor work?"

L-9 shook its head.

"It's not the right one, Roy. I need the smaller one — the older model."

"Shit," said Roy. "I think that I had that one compacted in trade for energy, about a week ago."

He scrambled to the back corner of the room and fumbled through his parts. Matches body throttled, and L-9 was struggled to hold her down.

"What's happening to her?" Dice asked. "What are you two doing!?"

L-9 didn't respond.

"Will this work?" Roy said, tossing a slimmer chunk of metal. L-9 looked studied carefully, before shaking its head.

"No," said L-9. "This one might fry her systems."

"Well, that's the last one," said Roy. "Take it or leave it."

The digital eyes on its display screen flitted to Matches' face.

"I can't," it said, shaking its head. "It's too risky."

"Is there at least a chance that it might work?" Dice asked, with a rasp.

"Sure, there's a chance... But, like I said, it's not worth the risk."

"Well, we don't have any other options, now do we?"

Dice snatched the processor from L-9's hands. Tearing the old processor out, he placed the new one inside Matches. There was a click. A ragged rumble.

The rumble lulled to a steady vibration.

"That had to be the worst sleep of my life..."

Matches pulled herself from the ground and looked up at Dice. A warmth filled his chest.

"Anyway, where the hell are we?" Matches asked.

"I have no cl—."

There was a roar. An explosion. Dice closed his eyes. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Dice pried his eyes open. Matches writhed on the ground, an even bigger hole in her chest than before. Her eyes were wide with shock. Her mouth hung wide open.

Dice shoved Roy and L-9.

"Get out of my way!" Dice said.

He knelt and put his hand back to Matches' forehead. The heat had left. It was just... Cold.

"No... No, no, no, no..."

He put his hand on Matches' wrist. There was only a flicker of movement.

"Matches?"

No response.

"Matches, are you still with me?"

Matches rolled her head toward Dice. Dice felt a sputter of relief. It faded as the look of death gripped around Matches' face.

"I guess this had to happen to one of us at some point, right?" Matches said.

Dice shook his head. His eyes burned. "We came so close..."

Matches smiled.

"No, not close... We made it."

Dice's face stung as tears blended with the blood streaming down his face. He tried wiping it away, only to make the stinging worse.

"I feel tired," said Matches, closing her eyes. "I'm ready to go back to sleep."

"Matches, are you still with me?"

Dice scrunched his face, trying to hold in the tears. He could feel his nose going red, and his skin blotchy.

Matches reopened her eyes.

They were vacant. Matches' jaw slackened. Her face froze. Her skin turned hard as metal.

Somebody put their hand on Dice's shoulder.

"It's alright."

It was Roy.

Dice let out a stream of tears.

"It's never going to be alright."

Dice noticed how muggy the room was. How frail its structure was. Yet, as he looked into Roy's face, he found comfort. He turned to L-9. It was in its face too.

Even as Roy and L-9 came closer, Dice didn't leave Matches' side. The pain didn't leave Dice's body. The tears didn't leave his eyes. Yet, the comfort didn't leave either. As Dice stared down Matches' vacant eyes, he remembered the first time he'd seen them — the way they'd shone through the darkness. Even in their current emptiness, there was a hint of life.

There was a meaning. There was a purpose. He just had to look harder.

End