III
Bastian pulled his hood up around his face, covering his blonde hair. Surface side was sickeningly bright, even when the sun took a leave of absence. A cloud of ash would be welcome, nuclear fallout would help to thin the population out too. On the building ahead of him, a ridiculously bright billboard blared a holographic message about bio-chip implants. "Safe, and harmless," the woman mouthed, the words bobbing above her head. He scoffed. Surely his prey wouldn't stoop so low as to inject themselves with government sponsored chips. They were the equivalent of tagging a cow's ear, but with GPS and health sensors. They'd make feeding a real pain.
After leaving his zombie spawn in an appropriate spot, he caught the sound of protesters on the wind, and headed towards the chanting voices. The city had some of the worst surveillance he'd ever seen. He followed the blind-spot lines that riddled the streets, passing by his favorite section, a ten meter stretch bordering a river. He'd only found the blind spots by tracing Big Brother's movements. Peculiarly, the hero didn't had a traceable scent, so he'd had to rely on old fashioned sleuthing. He'd found most of the back alleys, and even a few of the main roads had convenient gaps in surveillance. It had seemed suspicious initially, but Bastian had long accepted it as a tragic flaw of the city. It wasn't easy remaining undetected in human society; he'd take whatever advantage he could wrench back from them.
The chanting led him to a protest at Rowling square. It had cameras that angled perfectly away from the square's southern side, so that was where he loitered. He imagined his spawn would rise soon, and felt a warm surge in the decaying space his heart had occupied. The square was growing crowded. Of course it was, tonight was the night they would give a robot a soul. Bastian scoffed. The public conference was going to be held in the Imperial Museum, a white hexagon-shaped building, that had been erected in the naturalism era. Protesters occupied the left side of the square, while supporters and conference attendees stood their ground on the right
"AI Not Okay!" The protesters shouted, brandishing signs at the building and opposing crowd. It was the lamest battle he'd ever seen. As if that was going to change their minds. If you wanted to make change, you had to do it with blood or bullets. The protesters wore Halloween costumes, so he slipped into their crowd, his black cloak blending with them. The warmth of the bodies, the thrumming of heartbeats around him; it was intoxicating. He imagined their terror if they discovered what he was.
The wind changed direction, he caught a distracting scent. The scent of salted, flooded subway tunnel and mammal-amphibian. It was strong. He craned his neck upwards. Atop the museum he saw their small forms, camouflaged against the dark rooftop. Bastian's mouth gaped open as the frog forced a small window open, and the pair slipped inside. He questioned his sanity.
"Nice costume, man," a dark skinned youth spoke in his ear.
Bastian resisted the urge to crush the cartilage in the boy's throat. He nodded curtly, as his fangs erupted from his jaw. He grimaced to hide the protrusiong, and coaxed them back into his gums
What sort of losers would mill outside a museum on Halloween? Bastian realized he was among those losers, and hissed in annoyance. The animals had gone inside, and so would he. Big Brother was probably in that building. The chance to spread the superhero's intestines over historical exhibits was too good to pass by. As well as getting even with the animals; he took staking very personally. He'd have to leave the city for another few centuries, but that would be worth it.
But how would he sneak in? Bastian hadn't carried money for centuries. He would have to steal a ticket from one of the supporters. He began moving to the left side of the square, picking out a target. At that moment, an animal control van blared its horn, parting the opposing crowds. It moved slowly around to the back of the building. Bastian smirked. He was willing to bet an animal controller wouldn't need a ticket to the event.
*
After dropping to the floor of the museum, Lars and Seth scurried along the corridor, searching for the AI unit. They came to the next door. Seth reared on his hind legs, pressing his weight to the door with his front paws. In a practiced maneuver, Lars launched himself at the door knob, pulling it down with his weight.
"It's locked. Needs some sort of swipe card," Lars said, dangling from the resistant doorknob.
The door opposite them had no lock, so they repeated the maneuver. This time, the metal door swung open. The room was narrow and tiled. It smelt strongly of disinfectant.
"There's nothing here," Seth said, scanning the room.
Lars' gaze shot to the rectangular basins affixed to to the wall. Humans cleaned their hands in them, unlike the trough-like 'urinals' he'd once taken shelter in during a mission. He shuddered. He'd had to replace his amphi-suit after that incident.
"Give me a boost?" Lars asked.
He pulled himself over the lip of the basin, and lifted the levered tap. Cold water spluttered out. His amphi-suit had been lingering in the low 30%'s and was beginning to tug at his skin uncomfortably. Lars jumped down into the basin and stood under its flow. "We have to alter the AI's base code." he told the meerkat. "This conference had such a positive public reaction, that it spurred the mass production of AI. If we can change that, there might just be a future. We just have to find the damn thing. If you were an AI unit, where would you hide?"
"Somewhere with locked doors," Seth said.
A loud flushing sound came from the far side of the room. The meerkat flinched, and scurried under the basin. In the corner of the room, hinges squeaked, and a uniformed human male walked out of a cubical. His brown eyes widened in shock at the intruders. Lars evaluated the situation. The flushing sound diminished and there was an awkward moment of silence. "What the f-"
"Mind your language," Lars interrupted, in perfect English.
The man stood there with his mouth agape. That's not going to catch you any flies, Lars thought. He wasted no time pulling the water from the trough-seat behind the man, and freezing the ground beneath his feet. The male stepped forward, slipped, and fell backwards, smacking his head on the trough-seat. He did not rise.
Lars jumped down from the basin, landing on evenly four feet. The human they'd vanquished was dressed in a grey security uniform. He noticed a key card hanging from his belt.
"What are we going to do?" Seth said.
Lars frowned. "Help me push his legs back into the stall."
As they locked the stall from the inside, Lars noticed a device wrapped around the man's arm. The rectangular screen was almost as big he was. After relieving the guard of his swipe card, Lars removed the screen, and pushed it onto the floor. A map blinked on the screen.
"Gotcha," Lars said, poring over the screen. "I guess we're going to the conference hall."
*
George caught a glimpse of his Doppler patrolling near the museum. The night was set to be a big one. Protesters shook holo-signs in front of the building. "You are not God" "AI'n't a good idea" "Stop AI!" They've been gathering for quite a while now. He wondered if he'd have to break up any fights.
That was not the screen he was staring however, because on the screen adjacent, there was a commotion unfolding on the Southern side of the city. An old woman had crawled out of a dumpster, was taking zombified to all new levels of realism. Patrons fled from the area as the disjointed staggerer approached a young trick-or-treater. A parent pulled them away from her grip.
The woman, much too frail-looking to be dressed in costume, dug her fingers into the fleshy stomach of the parent. She pulled the guts from his body like spaghetti. The man howled as she went for his throat. George retched at the view. He summoned the Authorities. They would alert any law personnel in the area if they couldn't contain the threat.
Hopefully they would be able to quell the disturbance, at least until one of his Dopplers got there. He was so transfixed on the screen that he missed the black-hooded figure slipping into a pest control vehicle next to the museum. When he turned back, the van was rocking violently. Heathans. At least the glass was tinted, he reasoned.
The zombie lady had ripped the man's neck out. She appeared to be grotesquely making out with it. George wondered what drugs she had taken, or if she was just a filthy Sub, gone mad down in the blackness. The Authority had arrived. The spherical 'bot fired sedatives as she crouched over the dead body. They did as much damage as spit balls. He watched as the Authority began blinking a blue light. It was summoning medical support? They needed a Response team not a bunch of med-bots! Sweat began beading on his forehead. The system couldn't fail. It wasn't set up to fail.
A navy figure appeared on the scene. George felt relief surge through him. Maybe his Doppler would be able to reason with the woman. She growled, rising from the dead body. Red spittle dripped from her sharpened teeth. The teeth themselves didn't frighten him; prosthetic teeth had been a fad over half a century ago. His own grandma had gotten fangs, and she'd filed them down only in her sixties.
The Sub charged at his Doppler, and they engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Hand-to-teeth combat in the woman's case, there was an cannibalistic brutality that raised the hairs on George's neck. Her movements were stiff, disjointed; like she'd been shocked with electricity. His Doppler avoided the first two attacks, but turned to more physical means of defense. She took two unguarded punches to the face. Then turned her head rapidly, catching the Doppler's third punch between her teeth. She bit down. George heard bones crack through the speakers. Blood splattered his Doppler, and he heard himself scream. The Sub lunged for his neck, and tore the sinews from it, like pulling stuffing from a toy bear. As sirens lit the area, the woman looked up, and fled down the street.
She disappeared into a service tunnel, dragging his Doppler's bleeding body along with her. She was just like the Subterranean Terror, George realized with a jolt. This was bad.