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

Dan stopped dancing, his arms fell limp to his sides, and the defiance in his face vanished. “Don’t say that.”

Staring at him, Stanley didn’t know what to do next. He saw a teenage version of the being that would unite the world, and it just killed him to know that Dan wasn’t meant to be secluded here forever. A wave of emotions told him he was acting irrationally, but he had to do everything to protect Dan. He was already taking a risk by letting him set up social media, but it wasn’t like his followers knew where he lived — but someone did.

A ferocious hiss pierced the room, followed by a bloodcurdling scream for help.

“That’s Glenda!” The two of them ran for the door. Remembering the threats he had received over the phone, Stanley stopped and faced Dan. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this on my own.”

The android nurse wheeled Teddy into a large room full of rehabilitation equipment. He scanned the room in annoyance, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. The elastic bands hanging near the walls were urging him to strangle Brad; the dumbbells aligned neatly in racks were demanding to crush his skull in. If the nurse didn’t hurry up and get this worthless physical-therapy session over, he’d use her to see how strong his body had become.

“Can you stand up?” she asked, resting her hand on the walker in front of the wheelchair.

“What does it look like?” The question was infuriating. If he could stand up, he’d be out of this idiotic wheelchair and using this body that he’d been dreaming of for years. But it had been so long that he had completely forgotten how to use a body. Looking down at his stupid legs, he demanded they move.

Nothing.

“You can do it, Teddy,” called out the android nurse.

He imagined going on a rampage and wrecking everything in the room. Slowly, he hoisted himself up to the walker.

“Excellent.” The nurse pointed along the floor where a line of tape trailed off to the other end of the room, metered in inches and feet. “See if you can walk ten feet.”

Infuriated by her overly cheerful voice, Teddy squeezed the walker as hard as he could — which wasn’t that hard. His legs and arms vibrated but wouldn’t budge.

“You can do it, Teddy.”

“Shut up!” he shouted. Focusing, he felt his knee bend and raise.

His first footstep in years.

“Great job!”

Several clunky steps later, he reached the ten-foot mark.

“You did it!”

“Whoop-dee-do. I’m walking like a 90-year-old geezer with a broken hip.”

“Let’s take a rest.” She brought the wheelchair over.

“Get that out of here,” he yelled. “I’m not done yet.”

“Rest is important, Teddy. Your mind is still getting used to the Cerebral Stitch.”

Teddy wished he had something to throw at her. Slowly, he twisted the walker around and teetered forward. Unimaginable mental exhaustion that would have broken any other man screamed through his skull. Yet Teddy persisted. He hadn’t waited all this time to stop now. His emotions felt explosive, his impulses uncontrollable.

“Teddy, excessive use of your Cerebral Stitch with your new body is dangerous. It may lead to restlessness, memory loss, irritability, panic attacks, and death.”

“I don’t care!” he shouted.

Six grueling hours passed, and his movements became passably fluid.

Despite the protests, the nurse remained smiling and continued to cheer him on. “Super job!”

Power flowed through Teddy’s body. He’d learned all he needed to. Grasping the walker firmly, he whipped it to the side, sending it crashing against the wall. The time for stupid exercises was over — he had a man to kill.

“You can do it, Teddy!”

Damn right.

Bitterness ran through Shannon’s core as she stood tall, wearing her highest heels and a short red dress — Evan had made her take off the floral one. Shannon was on the verge of a splitting headache, and everything he did annoyed her. He took so much pride in his little fuse-farm. Wanting so much to impress her, he was more than willing to physically force her into coming.

She traced a semi-circle across her flat stomach. Evan had become a different man since the miscarriage. His bouts of anger had worsened. Coming home drunk, he would scream at her for not being in the mood. When her mind raced, she couldn’t get comfortable enough with herself, let alone another person. Was her failure to be intimate at fault?

They were sitting in the lobby of a repurposed apartment complex, which Evan turned had into a fuse-farm. Small, bright fish swam in a large aquarium covering most of one wall. A mural of flowers wrapped around the other three — Shannon’s artwork. It had taken her months to paint them all and an energy she no longer possessed. Slouching down in a black leather chair, she couldn’t wait for this to be over.

“Sit up straight,” said Evan. “You look like a slob.”

She got up and turned to him. Her pretty red nails gnarled like sharp, bloody talons. About to let him know how much of a jerk he had become, the door opened, and in walked the most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall, handsome, and powerful were the words that she would later use to describe him, but he was so much more than that. Beyond the sculpted body that fit snugly against his perfectly pressed suit, there was an inexplicable serenity and confidence behind his light-blue eyes. He strode right up to Evan, not flinching in the least — unlike most men when they came face to face with Deputy Dickhead — his hand extending from broad shoulders, smiling with pearl-white teeth that must have been sculpted by a dental deity.

Mr. Handsome said his name, but Shannon’s ears — and just about every other part of her — had stopped working.

Evan shook his hand. “I hope the drive from Boston was pleasant.”

“It was. Though I’m not used to the cold.”

“How long has it been since you