This is unusual. Police don't typically let out bots randomly. I look down at a pen that is offered at the counter. She sees me see the pen. I turn away from it and get a pack of gum to toss it on the counter. She gets nearer to me, and that is the point at which I tear the dark pen from the holder, get her hair and push the written work device profound into her neck. The dim red, practically dark blood splatters my face, my hand, my shirt and the general region adjacent to this lady. She drops to the ground and I press my foot on the woman's chest, hold her hair hard and rip her head right off her neck. Since I didn't cut it off, a touch of her spine accompanied.
Ivan caught up to me, “Fuck.” and leaned down to open her shirt. In her bra Ivan ripped out the equipment and kicked her body hard in the side. He threw down the recording microphone and crushed it, “What a bitch, man, they’ve probably got the cops coming already.”
I crouch down and pull her bra down a bit, revealing a small tag that read Bot Vista, “No, this is an android.” I mutter and pick up the woman’s head to take a better look at her neck. I show Ivan and Val the inner-lining of metal and white wires in her spine, “They simply sent out a robot to scan the place down and collect some information. They already know that this place exists.”
Ivan smacks my back, and I lurch forward on the contact. He laughs, “You've done it again, Ethan!” I laugh a little bitterly and forcefully, to whack him in the calf with the front of my fist. He stumbled and fell, then groaned and started picking himself up, “Right, sorry. No sudden contact.” he mutters in pain.
I roll my eyes and return my attention to the woman. Her skin is incredibly soft, and her hair is white, she’s spine-chillingly real. I’ve never seen such a real robot, are they coming out with newer models now? On the left side of her chest there was the letter H printed in black. I gently brushed my fingers over it, then over the dark blue C on my own chest. I’m an ancient mold, some might say, compared to this beauty. The wealthy people running this planet are angelic looking people. Fair skin, fair hair, and thin nimble bodies are a sign of wealth and prosperity, that they are heavenly and pure. Us, we “commoners”, are far from that. I may be unhealthily pale, but I’m also dirty, a sinner and my hair is as dark as hell itself. If I were to have a soul, then I wouldn’t be as merciless. I would have real feelings and real qualities, but all of me is artificial. I’m man-made.
It may sound cliche, but I was created for good, and my creator, being as old as he was, slipped and the brain he had made for me was damaged. I suppose he didn’t see it and added it to my body without realizing that he had about 5 seconds left to live once I recovered and sat up from the stool my body was sat upon. He slipped his hand onto my shoulder, and I quickly looked to him, grabbing his wrist with my opposite hand and standing to jump up and slide my legs over his shoulders, twist and land with his stomach hitting the ground. I broke his ribs first, then jumped up to my feet, snapping his arms and ripping his legs off. I kept doing this with an expressionless face, listening to his mournful pleads and distressing, strangled screams of utter pain. I stood over his head and leaned down to roughly grab his hair and strike the back of his neck, blocking his passageways of air. I left him to die from suffocation and blood loss.
It doesn’t really matter to me that I killed my maker, he did a poor job anyway. Actually, in this dystopian world, my “father” was to be executed anyway, due to his poor handiwork at this point. He was useless. My sister had already been born by then, so she’s technically older than me, Valerya. My creator’s wife had died giving birth to her, and I had the mind of a seven year old, my maker wanted me to develop. Valerya was 15 and it was funny because I had the lithe, athletic body of a twenty-year old, tilting my head around like a child. Nowadays my mind is much more appropriate to my body, perhaps even a bit older. Valerya is 25, so my mind was supposed to develop, yes, but develop fast.
I throw the head back down, “Whatever,” I mutter turning to the clerk, “Sorry mate, looks like this is your unlucky day.” I say and casually take out my pistol and pop one in his head. I pull the cigarettes off the counter as he falls to the ground. Good thing, it was just us in here.
As we walk out I lighted one of the cigarettes and put it back into my pocket, as well as my lighter. Ivan hooks his arm around my neck, the man is frighteningly tall, he’s quite good at intimidation, that’s why his kills are more unseen and disgustingly brilliant. He’s attractive too, so seducing other people is no challenge for him.
“Oi, Val, are you okay?” Ivan asks, just to make sure, she nods and hooks her arm into mine. He leans into my ear, “Hey, you should lend her to me sometime, yeah?”
“I’ll cut off each and every limb from your torso slowly, spoon out your eyes, and skin your dick.” I glower and pinch his side.
He laughs and leans his waist away from me, “Just kidding, just kidding!” He leans closer to my ear and breathes hotly, “You know which type I really like…”
I grab the collar of his shirt and shove him against a brick wall. I blow smoke in his face and I punch his chest, keeping my fist there as I speak, “I could always just rip it off instead.”
“Oo, is that a threat? Hot.” He says and I punch his nose quickly, grabbing his hair and hovering the burning end of my cigarette to his eye.
“Did you know that the name Ivan, means ‘gracious gift from God’? Maybe I could send you back with the receipt. With your mutilated head in a box.” I said through clenched teeth. He raised his hands in defeat.458Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCpzA5lPe0j
458Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwiykFdDvPI
I elbowed his chest down and kneed him in the throat. Ivan coughed a bit before flinging his head up fast with his body. He wiped his bloody nose and hung his arm back over my shoulder. I threw my cigarette down and stepped on it to put it out. I took out another one and lit it, cupping my hand around the flame. I offered Ivan one and he took it happily, lighting it with the end of mine. We constantly looked like a gang, walking around this small area, so no one really felt the need to bother us. Ivan was way too comfortable with me, so they thought he was some uber powerful god or something, and Val was my sister so no one dared to touch her.
“So what district in the city are we painting today?” Ivan asks, using a killer slang. Usually “painting” is slang for trashing or plain targeting. Like how you'd paint with blood, painting. I shrug and take a long drag out of my cigarette, then lift my lip to blow the smoke out. Val slides out the cigarette between my lips and takes into her own. After a moment, it returns to me and I rub her back a bit.
For some reason, the anxiety in the safety for my sister and I, flew up.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
