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Adam is going to be pissed. Warner is going to be super pissed. Juliette might already be crying. If I survive this, Kenji will probably kill me himself.
This is a real woman. Not a robot. I’m so distracted by this fact, so alarmed by the warmth of her small hand as she touches my face that, at first, I don’t even notice the knife she’s pressed to my throat.
Instead, they’ve assigned me an elf who needs to stand on tiptoe to reach my neck. It feels like I’m being assaulted by a flower.
“You smell like apple,” she whispers, and I’m actually about to smile when she slits my throat.
Doll Hands is a serial killer. My pants were getting tight over a serial killer. Kenji is going to love this.
They’re aiming weapons in my direction I’ve never even seen. Huge, heavy, scary, neon shit. They look awesome. I want one.
The inmate winks at me. “Looks like we’re finally alone, beautiful.” I fire again.
“One day that overzealous optimism is going to get you into trouble. You think I’m being hard on you. I am. It’s because I don’t want you to die, you idiot.” I smile at the memory. That’s as close as he ever comes to saying I love you, little brother.
“If you’re watching this program right now, I’d encourage you to ask yourself this: What would Aaron Warner Anderson do? Because that’s the question I’m about to answer. And he taught me everything I know.”
I can see it now, the usage scenarios multiplying. It’s simple logic: if we believe our choices are our own—if we do not know we are being bent into obeisance—we will not be tempted to revolt. The ultimate goal of synthetic intelligence, then, is the obliteration of organic intelligence. The eradication of resistance.
“I’m living Kenji’s dream right now,” I whisper, still petting the bird’s head. “Except for all the blood, I’m basically a fairy-tale prince. All I need is a musical number and a fairy godmother. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“All right, fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing Jeff’s gun from the overturned trike. “Let’s do something stupid.”
“You hurt my family,” he says, leaning in, “and you will meet a very different version of me, Rosabelle. I will take you apart. And then I’ll feed you, one piece at a time, to the vultures.”
“Wow,” he says. “First she kills me, then she cares for me. Everything about this scenario is believable. Consistent.”
Aaron Warner Anderson is a living legend.
Adam wanted peace. Warner wanted justice.
“Humanity?” I say with a smile. “You sound like Juliette right now.” He stops to look through the window. “I know you meant that as an insult, so consider yourself lucky I like you enough not to murder you for disrespecting my wife.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, love?” he says to his wife, thawing as he approaches her.
They weren’t expecting to get pregnant. After ten years of marriage and endless tests, they’d accepted that it was practically impossible to reverse the near-sterilization her parents forced on her. The baby was an enormous shock. The entire pregnancy has been fraught. She nearly miscarried three times. At one point we couldn’t hear the heartbeat. There’ve been a lot of dark days. Juliette calls the whole thing a miracle.
“That’s like telling water not to be wet,” Kenji mutters, crunching popcorn again. “This man lives to worry about you. It’s his favorite thing to do. Between worrying about you and talking about you and frolicking through fields aggressively shouting your name at wildlife, I’m surprised the man has any time left to fuck with the world.”
“I don’t think you have plans to,” Warner says. “I’m only advising you not to do it when, inevitably, you want to.” “I just gasped,” says Kenji, not gasping. “Me too,” says Juliette, also not gasping.
“She’s, like, really, really beautiful,” Kenji explains to Juliette in an undertone. He shoves some chips into his mouth. “James is very into her”—he crunches—“even though she killed him, and later threw up on him.” Now Juliette does gasp. “Do I get to meet her?” “No,” everyone shouts at the same time.
“What’s that?” I cup my hand to my ear. “You think I’m more handsome than you? Smarter than you? Taller than you?” Warner sits up in his chair, his eyes flashing. “You’re right,” I say, darting up the stairs. “I crossed a line. Won’t happen again—”
After so many years being dead inside, James makes me feel alive.
“I’ve been fooling people all my life. You’re the only one paying attention.”
“I warned you,” he says softly, and I stiffen, my heart stopping. “I told you if you hurt my family you’d meet a very different version of me. Try anything with me tonight, and I will take you apart, Rosabelle. Do you understand? I will fucking destroy you. I don’t care who you report to back home. Right now, you take orders from me.”
I hate that she’s everything I hoped she wouldn’t be.
