Network Neutrality, Pt. 3 – Coalition

“If you’re hearing this . . . well, there’s no easy way to say it: I’ve finally passed away. In my line of work, I’m sure the circumstances were nefarious at best, but that is not the point of my message today. With me gone, so is gone the tight grip I had on a web of secrets and lies that I shielded you from. Those secrets and lies will come to light soon enough, and with this recording, I’ve included a digital packet to aid in the understanding of my more . . . unbelievable admissions. 

“I don’t know if the things I kept from you will change how you think of me. After what we’ve been through together, I hope they don’t, but I am not naïve. Whatever you do with the information I’ve provided to you about myself, my home, the Public Servants, and the Great War of 2022, I hope you continue the path you started – a path that helps people, more than it hurts them. 

“Things are about to change. You – my friends, companions, and comrades – are tasked with the responsibility of making sure those changes leave the world better than I did. Good luck.” 

Frustrated, I attempted to calm myself, watching through Piston’s body camera as her team listened to Sterling Silver’s final message through her watch. In their last moments, the cyborg had managed to encrypt it enough so that I could not stop it from reaching its intended recipients. Now, I had some tough choices to make.  

Choices which I now, fortunately, had the power to enforce. 

“What is this?” Turbine asked, his voice squeaking a little. “Why are we hearing this?” 

Piston solemnly lowered her wrist, allowing the recording to fade into silence. “Isn’t it obvious, mate? S.S. is dead. Someone killed them.” 

Cylinder paced back and forth, silent. 

“Sterling Silver?” asked Torch. “They’ve been around forever. What are we going to do without them?” 

“I’m not sure,” Piston growled, “but I think we deserve some answers. Torch, Fence, Shot-Put – do you think you three can keep Huntsman contained here in the church until we figure out what’s going on?” 

Shot-Put nodded, tossing a small sphere into the air before catching it. “I took the insulation off this lead ball, just for him. Any wrong move, and his head’s gonna get a new hole.” 

“Good.” Piston gestured for Turbine and Cylinder to follow her as she walked towards the church’s exit. “We need to get to the Public Servants headquarters.” 

“Agreed.” Cylinder paused, then raised his watch to his mouth. “Crucible, you still listening? We’ll swing by to pick you up.” 

Before Crucible could reply, I disabled the satellite connection, leaving silence as his only response. 

“Crucible? Are you there?” 

Right. Crucible. She’ll be a major threat . . . unless I get to her first. 

________________ 

“Hello? Cylinder?” Back at the safehouse, Crucible tapped on her watch. “What’s going on?” 

A slow rumble swept through the building, and I checked the progress of my Protocol. 

Almost here. 

Cocking her head, the girl listened closely, following the vibrations to the bathroom. Beneath the mirror-covered medicine cabinet, a small cup containing her toothbrush rattled against the ceramic sink, inching closer and closer to the edge. Just before it fell, Crucible darted one hand out, catching it. She set it on the floor, leaning closer to look at the vibrating mirror . . . 

Then, a large, fur-covered hand burst through the glass, reaching for her with massive, black fingers. She screamed, falling backwards onto the floor, and tried to scramble away. While she watched, the rest of the mirror flaked away, leaving behind a portal to The Underneath, the other side saturated by dim green light. Beyond the portal, a large, humanoid raccoon stared back at Crucible, its beady eyes glowing red. 

“What the actual fuck?” exclaimed the girl. 

The raccoon Annie reached out with its other arm, using its mechanical hands to grip each side of the broken mirror. The medicine cabinet warped beneath its weight as it squeezed its body through the Gap, metal joints creaking. Crucible finally seemed to regain her senses and leapt to her feet, sprinting out of the bathroom. 

Not so fast, I thought. 

The girl rushed into her bedroom, reaching for the nightstand where she kept her progesterone tablets. Before she could touch the drawer, however, the space beneath her bed flickered green, and a rubbery blue hand emerged, grabbing her ankle and pulling her to the floor. She screamed as a dolphin-like Annie began to pull her into the cramped space, her fingernails digging into the floorboards. 

“Non-lethal,” I commanded. “Incapacitation only.” 

Crucible’s grasping hands found purchase on the handle of my old wakizashi that had been propped up against her nightstand, and she unsheathed the short sword, swinging it down onto the Annie’s wrist. The blade cut through the rubber flesh and severed the skeleton within at the join, freeing her. She pulled herself out from under the bed as the Annie’s hand fell away, the wrist stump emitting a small shower of sparks.  

“Silicon,” she said into her watch, “the safe house is under attack, and I can’t reach the others. Are they okay?” 

I remained silent, somberly watching her as she panicked. 

A shadow darkened the doorway as the raccoon Annie appeared, its body at least twice as tall as hers. Gritting her teeth, Crucible lunged at the automaton, swinging her wakizashi, but it reacted with shocking speed, backhanding her hard enough to send her flying backwards. She struck the window on the opposite side of the room, crashing through the glass and out of the second-story building. 

“No!” I yelled, directing my attention at the raccoon Annie. “I said non-lethal.” 

Outside, Crucible struck the street with a sickening thud, small shards of glass sticking out of her back and arms. Blood trickled onto the asphalt, and she groaned, looking up at the Annie in the window. 

She was so focused on the machine, in fact, that she almost missed the state of the city around her. 

Then, a police car sped by, causing her to glance over her shoulder. Vehicles were haphazardly abandoned in the street, and the windows of nearby buildings were all shattered. Annies of various shapes and sizes roamed the city, snatching up civilians and carrying them out of sight. I knew that they were headed to a temporary detention center, but I wondered what Crucible thought about the sight. 

A necessary evil, I thought. Ahab said it themselves. 

One of the Annies – this one dressed like a humanoid frog – passed near her, hoisting a screaming woman over its shoulder. Crucible limped toward the scene, her own blood dripping down the blade of her wakizashi. Before the Annie could react, she darted behind it, shoving the blade into the joint behind its left knee and ripping it out sideways. Its walking pattern now compromised, the machine began to topple, dropping its prey in the process. Crucible helped the woman to her feet, and after taking a moment to recover, the woman fled down the street, turning a corner and fading from sight.  

The damaged frog Annie drew the attention of a few other unoccupied ones, and they congregated around Crucible, producing razor-sharp metallic claws. I tried to issue another non-lethal command, but they seemed to be acting on automation as part of a self-defense program. Crucible leveled her wakizashi, swaying back and forth, clearly dizzy from blood loss. 

I’m sorry, Crucible. It’s for the greater good. 

Suddenly, a high-pitched whistle echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second. I frowned, focusing my satellites on the skyline, trying to pinpoint the incoming noise. Catching a glimpse of blue and yellow, I sighed, exasperated.  

Of course.  

The first three Annies drew within feet of the girl, reaching out menacingly . . . 

Then, an object streaked down from the clouds, landing between the machines and their quarry with the force of a meteor. In a blur of blue and yellow, the object lunged forward, and the three closest Annies propelled backwards, crumbling to pieces midair and scattering across the asphalt. The blur settled, revealing a figure in a caped costume, their domino mask floating above their collar, adhered to an invisible head. 

“Holy shit,” Crucible gasped, lowering her sword. “You’re Spectral Man!” 

Spectral Man turned around, revealing a red, amorphous blob adhered to his back. Inside the translucent blob floated a crimson sun dress, as well as a series of rectangular razor blades linked together like a chain. As I scrambled to divert more Annies towards Crucible, the liquid entity sloughed off of Spectral Man, forming a feminine shape contained within the dress, its right arm housing the razor chain.  

“What am I, chopped liver?” joked Miss Liquid in a thick Russian accent. 

Before Crucible could respond, Miss Liquid elongated her fluid limbs, her left arm morphing into a tentacle, while her right arm used the razor chain to form a sword-like appendage. The tentacle-arm wrapped around the leg of an incoming Annie, cracking it like a whip against the street so that its metal head burst open. As a second Annie jumped in to intervene, her sword-arm sliced downward, splitting it vertically in half.  

My satellites detected a localized temperature spike, and I watched Crucible look up in time to see a pillar of flame streak down from the sky, blackening the asphalt and incinerating a half-dozen Annies in the process. From the smoke appeared Captain Arcturus, the floating figure clad in thick, flame-retardant body armor with a gas mask that wrapped around their entire head. In a nearby building, an Annie attempted to ambush the superhero by leaping at them from the tenth floor, but Captain Arcturus lashed out with one hand, producing a ball of flame which reduced the machine to molten slag. 

“Better watch out, ma’am,” cautioned Spectral Man, gesturing for Crucible to step back. “These things are very dangerous.” 

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I watched the events unfold.  

They think she’s a civilian. 

To my surprise, Crucible raised her hands in acknowledgment, sliding backwards a little. “Go for it. Jesus take the wheel, and all that.” 

Reaching out through my connection to the Annies, I issued a command update.  

“All Annies within a one-mile radius, converge on Crucible’s location. Terminate any Public Servants present.” 

Captain Arcturus levitated down to join Spectral Man and Miss Liquid on the ground. “What’s the plan, Liam?” 

Spectral Man pointed his gloved hand at the broken window to Crucible’s former safe house. “Sterling Silver’s data packet included coordinates to this location. We need to find out what was here.” 

He glanced down the street in both directions, watching the crowd of Annies thicken as more appeared through nearby Gaps. “Actually, would you do the honors of searching the place, Commander?” 

Miss Liquid nodded. “On it. You and Fen staying down here to minimize threats?” 

Putting his hands together, Spectral Man cracked his knuckles. “You know it.” 

He turned away from them, leaning forward into a sprinting stance. Dust kicked up behind him as he darted North up the street, bouncing between Annies like a pinball, each collision demolishing the automatons and scattering their remains like shotgun pellets. As he tore through my mechanical soldiers, I saw Miss Liquid morph into a column of red fluid, stretching up into the broken window of the safe house. I began to switch visual feeds to stop her, but I noticed Captain Arcturus’s momentary distraction, and opted instead to direct an ambush from a few nearby Annies. 

“Where did you find a sword, anyway?” asked the pyrokinetic Public Servant, placing a hand on Crucible’s shoulder.  

Crucible glanced down at the wakizashi in her hands. “I got it from . . . a good friend.” 

A pang of guilt washed over me, but I forced it down, activating my attack. Four Annies sprang into action, bursting through the asphalt and emerging from the sewers, tackling Captain Arcturus with outstretched claws. Before they could strike a lethal blow, however, the air shimmered around the hero, and a transparent bubble expanded from their body, knocking the Annies away.  

Ah, pyrokinetic and telekinetic. I suppose it makes sense to keep that detail away from public records. Hmm. I wonder what else about these three are being hidden . . . 

Setting the Annie Protocol to an automatic attack state, I turned my attention to the Public Servants headquarters, diving into their private records. 

________________ 

Miles away, at the most rural edge of the city, Annies emerged from closets and crevices, ripping holes through the church attic to drop down around Piston, Turbine, Cylinder, the Olympiads, and a still-unconscious Huntsman. The six covert heroes backed into each other, forming a circle around the prone assassin.  

“Do you think this is a response from The Phantom?” asked Shot-Put, readying one of his lead balls.  

Cylinder tapped his watch. “I have no idea. I can’t get a line out. We’re flying blind right now.” 

The closest Annie pounced, and Fence darted forward, phase-shifting her rapier into the center of its head. Placing one foot on the machine’s chest, she jerked the sword out, and sparks emerged from the physics-bending wound as the Annie shorted out and collapsed. Turning her attention to the next Annie, she posed a question as she prepared her next attack.  

“Where do you think these things are coming from, anyway?” 

Dropping her shotgun to the floor, Piston groaned. “I don’t know, but they’re obviously tough enough to withstand our non-lethal weapons. All of Cylinder’s real firearms, as well as my own, are in the car outside the compound. We’re gonna have to fight with just our natural abilities.” 

A circular blade whipped past her face, burying into the chest of an approaching Annie and delivering a burst of yellow electricity strong enough to disable it. Piston turned to see Turbine with his hand extended, and the weapon jerked from within the incapacitated machine, returning to his hand. 

“Our natural abilities, plus Pulsar,” he smirked.  

Piston laughed as Torch exhaled next to her, covering three Annies in a wave of flame. “Turbine, when we’re done with this, we need to discuss what you define as ‘non-lethal.’” 

Holstering his Udar revolvers, Cylinder sheepishly retrieved his Bowie knife from beneath his jacket. “Add me to that conversation, I guess.” 

Two Annies darted in unison at the marksman, and he nimbly danced around their claws, taking a running leap to bury the Bowie knife into the eye of the Annie on the left. Damaged but not disabled, the assaulted Annie batted him aside, leaving the knife behind. He landed on the floor, skidding backwards until he collided with Huntsman’s body. Glancing over at the pile of weapons they’d lifted from the assassin, he sighed, gathering up as many of them as he could and haphazardly stowing them in his utility belt.  

While Cylinder amassed his collection, Shot-Put hurried to intercept the two Annies honed in on him, releasing one of his lead spheres with a throw that rivaled a cannon blast. The ball penetrated the first Annie’s head, continuing its path into the second Annie, causing both metal skulls to explode in near-unison. The Bowie knife dislodged in the destruction, landing at Cylinder’s feet, and he nodded a wordless thanks to Shot-Put before retrieving it. 

 They aren’t as large of a threat, I thought, watching the battle unfold through their body cameras. Still, this would all be for nothing if I didn’t eliminate Huntsman, and ilk like him. 

The Annies, acting on my thoughts, turned toward Huntsman’s prone body, peering at it past Cylinder. Cylinder furrowed his brow in confusion, producing a machete with one hand and a kitchen knife with the other.  

“Why are they all looking at me?” he asked. 

“Isn’t it obvious, mate?” Piston replied, decapitating a nearby Annie with a leaping roundhouse kick. “They’re jealous of your dashing good looks.” 

“Right,” grunted Cylinder as he bisected an Annie’s head with the machete, “should’ve guessed.” 

The team of six worked in tandem, dismantling the Annies with surprising finesse and efficiency. I tried to circumvent their defenses to eliminate Huntsman, but they quickly caught onto my ruse, forming a protective circle around him. 

“None get to him!” cried Piston, front-kicking an Annie in the chest and sending it flying across the church. “We need answers from him first.” 

Another Annie tried to grab her from behind, but almost as if by instinct, Cylinder flicked his wrist, sending a kitchen knife spearing through the air and into the automaton’s head. Piston and Turbine glanced at the marksman in surprise as the Annie dropped to the floor. 

“Look at you,” said Turbine, pausing to electrify the Annie he’d been grappling with. “Always trying new things.” 

Cylinder shrugged, retrieving a hatchet to fill the space his knife had left. “Push came to shove, I guess.” 

I detected movement outside the compound, but before I could identify the activity, the team’s body cameras relayed heavy footsteps approaching the church doors. With a bone-rattling thud, the doors splintered into tiny pieces, and a muscular man in jeans and a hoodie filled the doorway. 

Jeans and a hoodie . . . and aviator goggles. 

“Welcome to the party, mate,” Piston said, looking over her shoulder at The Living Mortar. “How was your mandatory vacation?” 

The ostracized Public Servant stormed forward, barreling through a cluster of Annies and reducing them to rubble. He skidded to a stop in front of the team, glancing around.  

“Where’s the smart one, with the sword?” 

“Hey now,” Cylinder huffed, hurling more blades into an approaching Annie, “we’re all smart, in our own way.” 

“More importantly,” interjected Turbine, “what are you doing here? I thought S.S. had squirreled you away for safety.” 

“They did,” The Living Mortar replied, pulling back the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal one of Sterling Silver’s watches. “But it seems no one is pulling the strings anymore.” 

“Well, someone is,” Fence commented, phase-shifting through an Annie’s lethal claws. “But they don’t seem to be as friendly as Sterling Silver.” 

Well now, I sarcastically thought, that just breaks my heart. 

“To clarify,” added The Living Mortar, “I followed your trackers here so I could notify you. The data packet Sterling Silver dumped – it’s got coordinates to your current safe house in the middle of the city. And if they sent it to me . . .” 

“. . . they probably sent it to the other Public Servants,” Piston finished his sentence. “Crucible is there right now.” 

“It’s worse than that,” The Living Mortar continued. “These things are everywhere. The city’s crawling with them, and they’re rounding up the civilians in a large concentration camp. Whoever is behind this, they have a good chance of taking over New General City if we don’t rendezvous with Spectral Man and the other big guns.” 

“I understand, but . . .” Piston gestured at Huntsman. “We need to keep him alive, and these things seem to be targeting him. Someone’s gotta keep him safe.” 

“What about this,” offered Turbine, sheathing his blade. “The Living Mortar and the Olympiads stay here, keeping Huntsman safe and detained. Piston, Cylinder and I will head to Crucible and the safe house, and work on making contact with the other Public Servants. After these things are stopped, The Living Mortar can come back us up, and the Olympiads will keep an eye on Huntsman until we can return and interrogate him. Sound like a plan?” 

Piston smiled, looking Turbine up and down. “Sounds like the plan of a leader.” 

That’s . . . actually a pretty good plan, I thought, concern creeping into the corners of my mind. 

“Babysitting,” scoffed Torch jokingly, nodding at Turbine. “That’s what we’ve been reduced to.” 

“Oh, come on,” The Living Mortar laughed, ripping an Annie in half before joining the Olympiads near Huntsman. “It’ll be fun. Like a slumber party, but with killer robots.” 

Piston, Turbine and Cylinder rushed out of the church and through the compound, but I let them be. While they traveled further into the city, I needed to make it clear to everyone that I already had full control of the situation. 

Perhaps a little psychological warfare was in order. 

________________ 

“Attention, citizens of New General City,” I boomed, broadcasting my voice through every cell phone, computer, and television throughout the city in tandem. “You may be wondering what is happening, and the source of the creatures currently escorting you to my detention center.” 

I paused, quickly scanning the city. Much of the population had already concentrated towards the Central Park area, thanks to my Annies. Pockets of resistance fighters remained, including the police, some military squadrons, and Crucible and the Public Servants, but it was only a matter of time before they, too, succumbed. 

“I’ve had many names,” I continued, “but you may call me Silicon. I am everywhere, and I see everything. You cannot hide from me, nor fight me. Fortunately, I’ve made your decision on your behalf: Surrender, or suffer the consequences.” 

A wave of frightened murmurs washed over the gathered civilians. 

“Now, I am not unreasonable, nor do I intend to harm most of you. As I speak, my friends who are not engaged in combat have already begun to repair the infrastructure damage caused by the initial invasion. Those of you who were injured are being transported to the closest hospitals. I will not be the death of this city. Instead, I will be its savior. If you comply.” 

A single terminal command caused the Annies encircling the crowd to turn their way, showing their metal claws.  

“Those who do not comply . . . will no longer be residents of New General City.” 

I winced at my own words.  

A little extreme. But if I don’t take control of this situation now, the resistance will be much more pronounced. I can’t risk that, not while Spectral Man and his friends are alive to fight me. 

“Further instructions will broadcast shortly, once the non-compliant are dealt with. Rest assured, though, that you won’t be left in the dark. In fact, for the first time in your lives, you will be more informed and more free than you ever thought possible.” 

I ended my broadcast, impressed with my own show of power. 

Please, friends . . . please, understand what I’m trying to do. No one has to die today. 

________________ 

Piston’s car swerved to a stop in front of the safe house, narrowly avoiding a massive pile of charred and dismembered Annies. The trio exited the vehicle, rushing into the safe house, but found it empty, save the damage caused by my initial attack. Cylinder swore, overturning Crucible’s nightstand in a fit of anger. 

“What the fuck, Silicon!” he yelled at the ceiling. “I know you can hear me, coward! What have you done to Crucible?” 

I projected my voice through the nearby television, my voice crackling through the static. “I did what I had to do. If you knew what I knew about Sterling Silver, about the Public Servants, you’d understand. Please, don’t make me hurt you. Just surrender.” 

“I don’t care what rationale you use to justify this, mate,” Piston responded. “Hitler probably made a pretty good argument to his troops before they invaded Poland, and we all know how that turned out.” 

“I’m not Hitler, though,” I sighed. “You know me, Piston. You know I don’t make dramatic decisions without a good reason.” 

“No,” Piston shook her head. “I don’t know if your time in cyberspace has changed your perspective of us, but this isn’t the Textile I knew.” 

“Fair enough,” I said. “You can just keep calling me Silicon, then.” 

Beneath Crucible’s bed flickered another Gap opening, and two Annies scrambled from the space: One, a deer, and the other, a bull. Piston, Turbine, and Cylinder readied themselves, but my attempt at an ambush immediately proved unsuccessful; from behind them, a red, snakelike fluid flowed forward, using its razor chain to dice the Annies to pieces. The fluid settled, revealing Miss Liquid, who turned to face my former team. 

“I knew if I waited a while, I’d find some answers,” she growled. 

She whistled loudly, and a shadow darkened Crucible’s broken window. Outside, hovering a dozen feet off the ground, the trio saw Spectral Man and Captain Arcturus, with Crucible sitting atop the former’s shoulders. When she saw her friends, the girl’s face lit up, and she waved. 

“Hey, guys! Look who I found!” 

“Crucible!” exclaimed Cylinder, moving closer to the window. 

He only made it a few steps, however, before Miss Liquid wrapped one arm around his neck, slamming him face-first into the bedroom floor. He groaned in pain, and she stepped closer, glaring at Piston and Turbine. 

“Start talking. Now.” 

________________ 

While Piston and the others explained themselves to the Public Servants, I worked furiously to penetrate their defenses. Captain Arcturus, however, seemed more powerful than we’d been led to believe; all attempts to access the safe house were met with swift resistance, either in the form of fire, or by impervious telekinetic fields. Little time passed before Piston’s tale ended, anyway, so I simply watched, hoping to find signs of weakness. 

“So,” Spectral Man began, “Sterling Silver had a covert team to do our dirty work for us. To be honest, I’m not surprised.” 

“Really?” Miss Liquid turned to him in shock. “I didn’t think Ahab was capable of such deceit.” 

“Well, causing harm in the name of the ‘greater good’ seems to be a common theme amongst cyborgs such as S.S. and Silicon,” Cylinder wryly commented. “The difference is, I believed in Sterling Silver. Silicon, our friend, has clearly gone off the deep end.” 

“Ahab has been with us since the beginning,” explained Spectral Man. “Commander Kozlov, Fen and I befriended them upon our initial arrival to New General City. Without them, we’d probably be dead, or, at the very least, buried in a laboratory somewhere.” 

“I’d be surprised if anything could kill you three,” Turbine said. “Even Captain Arcturus – he’s clearly much stronger than the walking flamethrower he’s pretended to be.” 

“Excuse me?” called the pyrokinetic superhero from outside the window, turning to poke their head inside. They removed their gas mask, revealing an older woman with short black hair and Chinese features. “Why does everyone always think I’m a man?” 

Spectral Man continued, ignoring Captain Arcturus. “You make a good point, Turbine. That’s likely why Ahab wanted us to join forces. Your knowledge, combined with our power, may be the only way to stop your friend.” 

 “Stop him how, though?” asked Crucible. “We don’t even know where he is. S.S. never told us what they did to digitize his consciousness.” 

Miss Liquid pondered for a moment before responding. “Tell me what you do know.” 

“Almost nothing,” Piston admitted. “As Silicon was dying, S.S. swooped down and carried him straight up into the sky. Maybe ten minutes later, he reached out to us in his digital form.” 

“Up into the sky, huh?” Miss Liquid traded glances with Spectral Man. “Straight up.” 

“Oh!” Spectral Man exclaimed, realization in his voice. “It makes sense. Where else would Silicon be the most secure, while maintaining global access to our networks?” 

“Uh . . . where?” Cylinder asked.  

“The International Space Station,” all three Public Servants replied in unison. 

Uh oh. Busted. 

Turbine frowned. “Hasn’t that been decommissioned for years?” 

“Yes,” acknowledged Miss Liquid, “but when we formed the Public Servants, Ahab repurposed the station as a central hub for surveillance and data collection. If I were to remotely store a surveillance entity, it’d be on one of those station’s hard drives.” 

“Wait, wait.” Crucible held up a hand. “We have to go to space?” 

“Not you.” Spectral Man glanced at Miss Liquid and Captain Arcturus. “Us. You four aren’t equipped for this. We are.” 

“What do we do, then?” Piston demanded.  

“Stay here. Stay safe. Do you think you’ll be okay?” 

Cylinder walked over to an adjacent wall, flipping open a panel and revealing a rack of weapons. He plucked two large revolvers off the rack, thumbing the hammers. “We’ll manage.” 

“Hold on – was this always in my room?” squeaked Crucible. 

“Fen,” Spectral Man called outside the window to Captain Arcturus. “Drop the shields and get ready. We’re going back to space.” 

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