Stanley Duncan's Robot: Genesis David III (english reading book .TXT) 📖

Shannon watched as he left, wishing she could escape with him. She wished that Evan’s volatility, this pivotal leader in the war against machines, didn’t depend on her. The burden was enormous. If she left him, he’d fall apart, and the city would descend into chaos. It was almost like she was being stretched apart, forced to endure this unending pain and knowing that, if she broke or ran away, there would be grave consequences for mankind.

His phone vibrated.

Shannon shifted in her seat, pretending not to pay any attention to the conversation.

“Understood,” said Evan, holding the cell phone tightly against his face. “The facility welcomes your visit.”

He ended the call with a scowl, leaning back in the oversized chair, and took another shot. Clicking a button on a remote, techno-like music pulsated into the room.

Shannon tensed. That anger needed an outlet, and if he didn’t find one, he was going to take it out again on her tonight. She cursed herself as she imagined him going into the ring and destroying a toaster or two. She knew there was something evil about it, but if it meant saving her from a night of abuse, wasn’t it worth it? They were just inanimate objects.

Vibrations drummed through Shannon. AI music was the only thing she liked about this wretched place. Glancing at Evan, she wondered how thick he had to be to hate the machines and yet concede their musical superiority. And they were spectacular. Human music had become antiquated and obsolete, lacking the unexplainable but undeniably better completeness that could be produced through advanced neural networks. It was like going from the basic imaging capabilities of a black-and-white TV to being blown away by immersive virtual environments. Technology murdered technology, and, like it or not, AI was going to reshape the world in whatever way it wanted. There was nothing Evan and his henchmen could do about it.

Evan pumped his head to the rhythm. A dry laugh shot out of Shannon. She quickly covered her mouth, ever so thankful for the loud music. A raised platform had been set up in the center of the club. Another gruesome battle was about to begin.

The music lowered.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed a deep male voice. “We’re in for a treat tonight. Freshly out of prison after a short stint for crushing a tin can is Marshfield’s favorite basher, Ike ‘The Slasher’ Martin.”

Shannon’s eyes narrowed. She did not want to see any more violence. Still, as the crowd roared, she opened her eyes to see Ike slicing into the air with an amorphous steel falchion. She had seen that weapon before. It was so sharp it could cleave a steel pipe in two or slice through a man’s arm like butter.

Officer Michaels and Sergeant Jenkins rolled two androids onto the ring with dollies and then turned them on. One android had the body of a man but had been dressed up in women’s clothing. His hair was cut short; jagged metal spikes and shards of glass pierced across his face. A loose white shirt with a padded bra masked his manly core, and a tight red skirt with a large front bulge was wrapped around his hips. Heavy concrete bricks sealed his hands into permanent hammers, which he maneuvered with ease.

The other had been skinned of its pseudo-skin, its machine core fully exposed. Steel spikes jutted out of it like a balding porcupine, and razor wire was wrapped around it, slicing anything that got too close — generally itself.

Slowly, the cross-dresser stalked Ike, swinging his heavy stone fists with enough force to leave him unenjoyably vulnerable. He heaved, building momentum for far too long. Ike ducked, slapping him in the ass with flat side of his sword.

Shannon looked away.

“Watch!” ordered Evan, a piercing look across his face.

Wincing, she forced her eyes back on the disgusting farce. When would it be her turn to rest?

Ike danced about, taunting the androids. Drawing the cross-dresser in, he shifted to the right as the block swung past him and smashed into the skinned android, knocking him to the ground.

The crowd roared with laughter.

The round ended. Ike went to a corner, but the two androids froze in place as if they had been powered down.

“Stupid toasters,” muttered Evan. After knocking back a shot of whiskey, he slammed the jigger down in front of Shannon and filled it up again.

She hesitated.

“Drink!”

She tossed it back, wincing and squirming in her seat. She didn’t want to dull the pain anymore. Pain motivated her. She needed all the strength she could muster so that she could — could what?

Escape was impossible.

The bell rang, and the next round began. Ike had continued the stunt like a one-trick pony until the hand of the cross-dresser became impaled on the spike of the skinned android.

“Kill them,” implored the crowd.

He cleaved the spiky one’s head in half, freezing it in place and chaining the other to it. Then he kicked the other one to the ground. It wiggled and shook, unable to stand up.

The crowd laughed.

Ike slid the sword into its mouth, staring at the crowd, waiting for their approval.

They roared, and the falchion severed the android’s spine.

She looked away.

“Keep watching.”

Shannon cringed. The fights hadn’t changed, but she had. It was no longer cathartic. Venting was one thing, but this unending obsession to destroy had drifted into something that felt deeply wrong. You can watch the same comedy show only so many times before it becomes boring. You can scream at the top of your lungs only so many times before you start hurting yourself. She couldn’t stand the cruelty. Guilt crept across her skin like a filthy sin. Her flesh screamed for soap. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to drown it all out with thoughts of …

When nothing came to her, she realized the only thing she was waiting for was death — and the sweet release it would finally give her.

A small, squat man hobbled into the room. He’d been nicknamed “Cratos”