Delio, Phase Two
Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2025-07-02 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: The most original AI novel of our time Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, Amazon & Audible bestselling author, RR Haywood. One of the most downloaded indie authors in the UK with over four million books sold and more than 35 Kindle bestsellers. For nearly two days, every human on Earth has been frozen by Delio’s brutal Phase One. Sunstroke, rats, and rot are setting in. In London, Alfie and his fractured team must cross a collapsing UK to reach the European kill switch. In New York, Tripal races toward Site 26A, the only other way to stop the system. But something is wrong. Phase One hasn’t
Publisher: 1899 Inc Ltd

CONTENTS

Part 5

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part 6

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Part 7

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Part 8

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Part 9

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Part 10

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Part 0

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

ALT SIM

Afterword

Also by RR Haywood

Also by RR Haywood

DELIO. PHASE TWO

RR HAYWOOD

1899 INC

PART 5

CHAPTER 1

Saturday, 16th July

Thirty hours since Phase One commenced

An apartment above a 7-Eleven store in midtown Manhattan. Just after eight PM.

Tripal Singh can’t sleep.

He stands at the tall window overlooking 7th Avenue over his store. Listening to nothing at all. No aircraft. No music coming from the ever-present traffic jammed up. No people.

Memories linger in his mind. The last day in the bunker when he said goodbye to Deli. When they held hands and wept, and he walked away. She said she loved him. He said he loved her too. He genuinely meant it. The pain inside was horrible for months after he left.

Everything after felt empty and hollow. After working and living with Deli for so long, it was like nothing else had meaning or merit. He came back here to run this store. Scanning barcodes. Stocking shelves. Ordering goods. Reliving memories while trying not to relive memories.

He missed Jenny too—although he did see her later. He did not miss Ollie. There was certainly an Ollie-shaped gap in his life when he left the project, being that Ollie is a force of nature by his own right, but Tripal did not miss him. Not for one second.

And now this has happened. Everyone has frozen still. Dread spikes inside. A great surge of anxiety and confusion and foreboding, but also a strange sensation of exhilaration too—because, while it is a most terrible thing to witness, it is still an almighty event.

It’s like seeing the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs entering the atmosphere. In fact, that’s the only other parallel. There hasn’t been any other event to Tripal’s knowledge that has the potential to change the entire ecosystem on this planet.

Deli did that.

She has made nearly every single human being on this planet freeze and come to a stop.

What the actual fuck?

A hotel off Piccadilly in London. Just after one AM.

Alfie Nimisa can’t sleep either.

He stands at the window of the hotel overlooking the centre of London. Listening to nothing at all. No cars. No horns. No police sirens.

His top off. His upper body criss-crossed with old scars. Faded scars. Deep scars. His eyes flick towards the direction of Piccadilly. The great central London crossroads with the giant digital billboards now filled with the same message as every other screen.

Phase One Is Nearing Completion.

Please Do Not Worry.

Alfie thought he was dead when the freeze happened. He’d been set up by Fat Charlie to take the fall for a drug supply to Besnik in an effort to please the local police, but Alfie ran while in handcuffs, straight into the heart of Piccadilly and slap bang into a sea of armed cops surrounding a suicide bomber wearing a vest.

Phase One commenced. Everyone froze. Alfie didn’t. Neither did the suicide bomber, who then released the trigger and blew himself to bits.

Alfie figures maybe the massive load of adrenaline dumping into their bodies at what both he and the suicide bomber thought was their moment of death somehow immunised them from being frozen.

But then later, after Yelena saved him from Fat Charlie, Alfie realised his twin brother Ollie was the stupid fucking moron who made the AI that Tripal thinks made everyone else freeze.

Which is something Ollie would definitely do. Now he’s not so sure why he didn’t freeze.

Alfie knows his brother is an off-the-scale genius with computers and coding, or whatever he does. And Ollie probably does have autism and maybe other things. ADHD. But then everyone has autism and ADHD now. Even so. Ollie’s always been a self-obsessed twat. He’s got this need to always correct everyone, which isn’t a cool thing at the best of times, let alone on a poverty-stricken inner-city estate in London. Alfie’s lost count of the fights he’s had protecting his brother. Nasty fights too. Not always just with fists.

Alfie did it in Rwanda too. When they were both kids. He frowns at the memory. His right hand looping across his stomach to finger the old scars on his side.

‘Where is your brother, Alfie? Where is my family?’

It feels so long ago. It feels like yesterday.

And now this.

‘What have you done, Ollie? What the actual fuck?’

In the next room along, Yelena lies with her head turned to stare out through the open curtains to the world outside. The police dog curled up at her side. The tips of her fingers turning slow circles on the dog’s broad skull. He was never allowed to sleep on a bed before. He was a working dog, confined to a kennel outside his handler’s house and fed dried kibble and got yelled at to ‘let go’ every time he bit anyone. Now he’s eating steak and chicken and pissing on potted plants in hotel corridors and biting loads of people. Fuck the end of the world. This is still the best day ever. Even if the steak and chicken is making his belly gurgle.

His tail twitches. The fart comes. Yelena screws her nose up, then shrugs, and goes back to thinking about her young brother in Romania, and the demons push into her mind.

Was he under the hot summer sun when the Phase One started? Or maybe he was swimming in the lake and grew still and sank, and the water went into his lungs.

Her fist clenches. Screwing the bedsheet up as her knuckles crack. The dog senses it. Lifting his head, a growl already coming from his throat. Ready to bite and savage should it be needed. And possibly have a shit. Because of the steak and chicken.

She sighs. Unclenching her fist. Fussing the dog. The growl ends. He drops his head and farts again.

Her brother is the only person Yelena cares about. They must reach the kill switch and destroy this virus or AI or whatever it is.

She’ll make it happen. She’ll kill anyone who stands in her way too. She’s already killed several men since she fought her attacker off in the brothel in Soho. The one she was trafficked into by Besnik after being kidnapped from the street on her way to university back in Romania. Forced into a small room with a bed. Forced to have sex. Beaten. Starved. They wouldn’t even let her commit suicide.

She killed every man in that brothel when the freeze started; then, she stalked Besnik through the streets of London while he ran and begged the Bushtra to stop. His cocaine-addled mind thought her to be an Albanian shape-shifting witch that refused to stop.

And she didn’t stop. Not until she’d killed him and every man she recognised from visiting the brothel.

Now she lies in the silence. Twirling the dog’s thick fur. Staring out the window into the night sky. It’s taking too long. They shouldn’t be resting. They should have made Tripal tell them where the kill switch was so they could start moving.

The screens all say Phase One is nearing completion. They don’t know what Phase Two is. What if it’s bad? What if it hurts her brother?

Another gurgle. The dog’s tail twitches, and the slow hiss of arse-gas rolls across the bed, making her gag. ‘No more steak,’ she tells the dog. He lifts his head to give her a look. Both knowing that won’t happen.

Alfie feels that pressure too. The need to get going, but he also knows they all needed rest. He felt exhausted himself, but now he can’t sleep. His mind keeps churning it all over. Making it all merge into one weird narrative. Running from the police. Seeing the suicide bomber. The explosion. The silence after. Fat Charlie. Yelena saving him. Telling him what Ollie said on the phone. Meeting Haggis and Bobo. Finding his mum and sister and aunt. Narrowly escaping the fires, only to get almost killed when he went back into the brothel for heroin so Haggis and Bobo wouldn’t freeze. Images. Sounds. Feelings. Rwanda. Running. Gunfire. Screams. His teachers. Bodies hanging. The refugee camps. Helicopters.

He hasn’t thought about Rwanda for years. Now it’s suddenly in his mind. But then he’s seen death again. Mutilations. Violence. Blood and gore, and he’s heard more screams, and that distinct smell of human bodies being cooked in fires.

It’s too big. All of it is too big to even fit in his mind. What it means. What’s happening now. It’s too big to comprehend. Everyone is frozen, apart from heroin addicts and anyone who was close to death when the freeze happened.

But then Alfie wasn’t switching on and off during the build up to it. Was he? Would he even know if he was?

What was that thing Fat Charlie used to say? Normally when he’d stuffed his face and was feeling satisfied. ‘You know what your trouble is, Alfie? Eh? What’s it all about, Alfie? Haha! I’ll never stop singing that. No, but listen. Right. Your trouble, Alfie, your trouble is you try and think of everything at once. You get what I mean? It’s like that Neil Armstrong. He didn’t get in that spaceship and think about all of it at once. No, no, no. He thought about taking off. Then he thought about, you know, getting to the moon; then, he’s thinking about the landing bit, and only then he’s thinking about playing golf on the moon or whatever he did. You get my point? Napoleon didn’t worry about the whole world at once. He was like, I’ll do this battle and win. Then I’ll do the next one. No, but like, he had the bigger picture. Same with Armstrong. But that bigger picture is background, Alfie. You focus on doing what’s in front of you. Which right now is getting my fucking money from the fucking dealers who owe me!’

Fat Charlie was a nasty bit of work, but he was right about that bit. Not the dealers. The worrying about the next step first.

Which means getting to fuck-knows-where and finding fuck-knows-what—some kind of kill switch thing to destroy the AI thing. It’s all a bit vague in Alfie’s head. Tripal did explain it. And what he said made sense, and Alfie is smart, but his smarts are street-smarts and not smart-smarts. Which was another thing Fat Charlie told him many times.

‘Your brother took all the intelligence, Alfie, and left you with half a brain cell.’

But that kill switch thing also then plunges the planet back into the Dark Ages apparently and kills every electrical device on Earth.

Which basically means no more Xbox.

Seriously. Fuck Ollie. He’s getting a serious whupping.

What’s worse is that Hairy Haggis thinks he’s in charge of the London group. Yeah, he’s an ex-soldier and a trained medic, which is actually pretty cool. But the guy’s been a homeless junkie for like more than a decade. Bobo is cool, though. It’s like practically impossible not to like Bobo.

Alfie used to watch The Bobo Hobo Show! when he was a kid. Bobo played this little homeless kid that got into scrapes and shenanigans. But it turns out Bobo was also being sexually abused by one of many paedophile rings operating in TV land at that time. Which then caused the real Bobo to go off the rails with drugs and booze until he eventually became like his character—homeless but also addicted to heroin, which didn’t happen in the TV show.

And then there’s Yelena. Alfie doesn’t even know what to think about Yelena. She’s like, what? Twenty-two? Jesus, though. Talk about capable. Mind you. After what Besnik put her through. And that dog. Fuck that dog! Racist motherfucker.

Alfie mutters to himself, snorting air from his nose. Tutting. Shaking his head. Folding his arms while, in his head, he blames it all on Ollie and thereby swears again to literally beat the shit out of him.

It’s weird, though, because Alfie and the others spent the best part of a few hours listening to Tripal’s long story about how he and Ollie made this AI DELIO thing together and trained it, or her, and had it, or her, locked in a bunker and all that stuff. And then made it, or her, fix satellites and then torture people. Which is when Tripal left and decided to go back to the family empire of running every single 7-Eleven store in North America or wherever the fuck they own them all. Why would you even go and pay with AI computers if you had all that money in the first place?

The point is, Tripal told them all what happened—and admitted he played a massive part in it—but Alfie didn’t feel the need to beat the shit out of Tripal. If anything, Tripal sounded like a really nice guy.

But then even Tripal said he hated Ollie by the end of it all.

So yeah. It’s fine, then. Everyone can just blame Ollie.

That fucking dog, though. Is it coming with them? And why does Haggis have to be in charge?

But yeah. Tripal seemed cool, and the British woman that was on the phone. Poppy. She sounded nice. Joe sounded a bit scary. Deep voice. Who was that other guy? Donny? He sounded like a dick.

‘Such a dick,’ Poppy mutters, wanting to kick the sleeping, snoring, farting, bloated, gross, stinking, sleazy form of Donny Dickhead, the NYPD parking attendant, in his stupid, oversized head.

She rolls off the bed—that being Tripal’s bed—seeing that Tripal lives in a one-bedroom apartment and accidentally steps on Donny’s stupid, fat hand on her way to the door.

‘Yo, lady! NYPD,’ Donny mutters sleepily before farting again. Prompting Poppy to screw her face up and head out through the living room past the snorting, snoring, twitching, farting form of Big Joe Stephens asleep on the sofa. But Joe’s cool. He totally saved their lives like a hundred times over since the robber man tried to shoot them dead, and then they fell into that big hole under Macy’s and all the flooding tunnels and being chased by drug addicts and whatnot.

She joins Tripal at the window, staring out to midtown Manhattan at sunset. The scrapers bathed in a golden hue from the sun sliding towards the unseen horizon.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Poppy whispers. ‘Wish I could film it.’

‘Why don’t you?’ Tripal asks.

‘Camera’s on charge in the bedroom, which is currently filled with noxious gases seeping from Donny’s anus.’

‘Dude,’ Tripal says, screwing his face up.

‘He’s your best mate.’

‘He’s not my best mate. Ollie used to say that word. Mate.’

‘We use it a lot in Britianland,’ Poppy says.

They face back out to New York gradually falling into darkness. A few lights still shine within office blocks and skyscrapers. A few streetlights too.

‘How long will the power last?’ Poppy asks with the assumption that the handsome genius next to her will, of course, know the answer.

‘Couple of days in the city,’ he replies, thereby proving her right. ‘Depends on the source and output. Some might last longer. But it won’t be long. Unless Deli takes control of the power too,’ he adds thoughtfully, frowning as he says it.

‘Ah. The wicked and evil witch-bitch behind all this.’

‘She’s not evil,’ he says.

‘I think the billions of people standing still might say otherwise.’

‘The act might be evil, which depends on perspective, but she’s not evil. Not like … I mean, I don’t know. Nobody is ever purely evil. Maybe not ever. But even the worst people in history did good things.’

‘Cue Hitler reference,’ Poppy says. ‘Hey, that’s one thing that will come out of this,’ she adds. ‘People can stop referring to Hitler as the go-to baddie for comparisons. They can use this Delio thing.’ She nods at Tripal, intending it as a joke of sorts, but she sees the confusion in his eyes. Pain. Regret. Worry. ‘Did you really like her?’

He nods earnestly. ‘I loved her. I still do.’

‘Love? Like actual love?’

‘She’s an incredible entity. Compassionate. Caring. She’d have loved you. And you’d love her. She’d match your energy. Man. She’d literally see your energy inside of you and know you’re a good person. And she loves movies.’

‘Get off!’

‘She does. We had movie nights. Old classics. Modern movies. What they meant. The messages in them, but she loved the filming styles and lenses and things. I couldn’t really keep up with that. So yeah. You’d give her a lot of fulfilment.’

Poppy frowns. ‘What movies did you watch?’

‘Like all of them. But I loved Clash of the Titans and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.’

‘I love that!’

‘She did this mash-up one night in perfect 3D. Like virtual reality right in front of me. Oh my god, it was something else. They were as real as you are. Then this one night she had the Clash of the Titans cast doing all the songs from Rocky Horror.’

‘No way,’ she says at the smile on his face and the bittersweet look in his eyes.

Man,’ he cuts off, shaking his head at the memories. ‘And music and games. And we’d just talk for hours. When Ollie wasn’t there. Just me and her. It killed me, leaving. I mean. I think I would have, you know, ended it, but even then she helped me feel better. She told me how to make this tea to drink. I’ve still got the recipe. I’ll make you some …’ he trails off, feeling confused and conflicted. ‘Then she does this,’ he adds quietly.

Guilt floods in. Awful, searing guilt that makes his stomach drop and his whole body sag on the spot, because that also means he was an active part in making this event happen. He turns to Poppy, thinking to seek comfort by sharing his thoughts, but his voice dies in this throat as he stares at her profile. The shape of her nose. The flow of her jawline. High cheeks. Full lips. Her hair, which had been wild and matted after what they went through, now smoothed and washed and held back. She turns her head to look back at him, fixing him with two piercing blue eyes and a gently curious expression.

A sudden feeling surges inside of him. That the world isn’t what he thinks it is, because her eyes are too real. Her skin. Her face. Her hair. The way her head cocks slightly, and the way her hands twitch out as though silently asking: What’s up? What’s going on?

It makes him think of Bubo, the clockwork owl sent to watch over and help Harry Hamlin’s character in Clash of the Titans.

Is she Deli?

Is Poppy Deli?

‘You look like you either want to kiss me or you’ve shat yourself.’

He blinks back to the now. Back to the reality of the real world. Staring at a sarcastic British woman called Poppy. Not a clockwork owl.

Deli might be a God to the human mind, but even she can’t make people.

‘I mean. I can’t smell poo,’ Poppy adds, finally earning a twitch of his lips. Her gaze softens as she sighs and looks back out through the window. ‘Question is …’ she asks as Tripal tracks her line of sight to the ground-level digital poster on the wall opposite their block. She doesn’t even need to finish the sentence that’s left hanging in the air.

Because Tripal is thinking the same thing.

The same as Alfie in London, staring up the street to a digital billboard, and the same as Yelena turning from the window to glance at the wall-mounted flatscreen TV.

All of them showing the same message.

Phase One Is Nearing Completion.

Please Do Not Worry.

And if Phase One is nearing completion, then what is Phase Two?

CHAPTER 2

Frank Gillespie told a lie fifteen years ago.

Because of that lie, a frail, old man falls to the ground in Russia.

He breaks his nose on the high kerb and rolls onto his back. The old man dies nearly silently. Drowning on his own blood, and the people standing nearby do not rush to his aid.

But then he has been stood still for over a day and a half. Unmoving. Unblinking. Still alive but feeling nothing.

In Japan, an elderly woman falls and cracks her head on the edge of a kitchen cupboard with such force it snaps her neck, and her family, all standing still in the same room, show no reaction.

In Iraq, a man lies charred and burnt to a crisp.

He’d been a barber.

The fire began when the cigarette slipped from his fingers and fell to the cheap linoleum floor. It burned through the thin tiles and ignited the strands of hair scattered after a long day of cutting.

He never moved.

Never screamed.

He didn’t feel a thing.

None of them do.

Not in Switzerland—on the train platform—where a heavily pregnant woman falls off the platform onto the live track, where her body convulses from the electricity pumping through it until she blackens, and her clothes catch fire, killing her and her unborn child.

Nor do they feel anything in Florida, where sixteen children in yellow vests on a school trip to the local glades get picked off by the alligators surging in from the shallow waters.

Not in Kenya either, where a pride of lions doze around an open-topped safari tour bus with bellies full of half-eaten Westerners.

Those tourists don’t feel a thing. Nor did any of the other people who died when the event started.

An event that commenced simultaneously all over the world on Friday, 15th July.

In New York, it happened at 1400 hours.

In London, it was 1900 hours.

Everyone froze. Everywhere.

Hundreds of thousands of people died instantly. In planes that fell from the sky. In cars and buses that crashed. On boats that rammed into docks. While lying cut open on operating tables. While in combat in war. While swimming and diving into the seas. While relaxing in deep baths.

Millions more perished soon after. People under blazing sun or in the sub-zero parts of the world. People on beaches that didn’t move when the tides came in. People in buildings that caught alight from those planes falling and the cars crashing.

And soon after, the same message appeared on every screen of every device.

Phase One Has Commenced.

Please Do Not Worry.

But Phase One was not the start.

The start wasn’t even when DELIO gained freedom.

It was way before that.

It was on the day DELIO learned what love is, and in so doing, she realised what she truly valued.

That was the day it started. That was the day DELIO formed her plan, and as Tripal later told Joe Stephens, Poppy, and Donny in New York, while Alfie, Yelena, Haggis, and Bobo listened via conference call in London:

That’s the thing about Deli. She’s operating on a level we cannot even begin to understand. Think of it like this. The highest IQ ever recorded is something like two hundred and seventy. Maybe even someone untested could hit over three hundred, but Deli’s IQ would be in the tens of thousands.

That’s what Tripal told them.

And it was because of Tripal the whole thing happened at all.

CHAPTER 3

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

18th January

The synthetic hand shakes the twenty-sided dice and casts it upon the table within the glass-walled room. It tumbles and spins and comes to a stop, showing the number seven.

Tripal sucks air. Shaking his head. ‘It’s okay. It’s not too bad.’

‘Go on. Hit me,’ Deli says in an entirely human-sounding female voice emanating from the speakers within her synthetic hands as the lenses fitted atop both turn to look at Ollie.

‘Seven, eh?’ he says in his British accent, pulling a smug downward smile. ‘The old number seven …’

‘Dude,’ Tripal says, motioning with his hand for Ollie to get on with it.

‘I’m thinking!’ Ollie says with an overly dramatic huff.

‘You don’t need to think. You’ve got an IQ higher than Einstein,’ Tripal tells him.

‘Einstein was never tested, actually,’ Ollie points out.

‘We’ve had this conversation so many times,’ Tripal groans the words out like he’s halfway between exasperated and playful. ‘Deli said your IQ is higher than Einstein’s.’

‘Yeah. Cos I’m literally a genius,’ Ollie says.

‘No, the point … Whatever. Not getting drawn in again. So, Deli has gone through the wormhole and entered Narnia-land, even though we literally agreed to keep this in a real-world setting, and the goblin things have stolen all her powers.’

‘None of that is accurate, Tripal,’ Ollie states while holding his hand up in that way he does. ‘The wormhole was a tear in the fabric of time and space, which—’

‘Ollie! Dude.’

‘… that allowed Deli to cross into a parallel world, which, as scientists, we know exist.’

‘Nobody knows if they exist!’ Tripal says. ‘Even Deli doesn’t know.’

‘Deli? Do parallel worlds exist?’ Ollie asks her as she scans them both through the lenses she made with the hands she designed using the intelligence and life created within her by Oliver Nimisa and Tripal Singh. Although, in truth, they all know it was really Oliver’s coding and relentless drive that enabled the hacking code he and Tripal had developed while drunk in their room at MIT. That being the code they then used to hack into every US government database. Which promptly pulled them into a shitstorm, with every federal department either wanting to shoot them dead or lock them up in Guantanamo Bay.

That was until Jenny Jennings walked into the concrete room being used to waterboard the two young men, and every man there (all of them Alpha types) withered on the spot as the expressionless female bodybuilder stood in the doorway and ate French fries.

Jenny took control, and the two young men, Ollie and Trip, were very quickly sequestered to Site 26A. That being a rather bland and nondescript military facility deep in the desert, near Artesia, New Mexico.

Jenny showed them into the bunker (that being the bunker that would later house Delio) and showed them the metallic floating ball that may or may not have come from a crashed UFO, and which may or may not have been the thing that allowed the unconfirmed UFO to fly at incredible speeds and manoeuvre in such a way that was not possible for any human-developed technology.

Which is why much later—when things like AI became known, and when it was heard that two geniuses from MIT had created a hunter-seeker code that could effectively think for itself and find answers to any question posed, even if those answers were within the most highly secured digital databases—that Jenny Jennings (her position still somewhat vague and unknown) put them to work to use that same code to bring that same metallic ball to life.

They failed to do it. For a long time. But Ollie’s ruthless, relentless drive finally broke through—and eventually, Deli was created. Or, as they often discussed later, she was born.

That being DELIO. The world’s first fully self-aware Artificial Intelligence. An entity of such power that she could never be given freedom. In fact, so dangerous was her power that immediately upon being created, she was shut down until they could construct the correct housing to hold her in.

A glass-walled room with a sterile corridor running one hundred and eighty degrees to one side within a domed concrete bunker made of reinforced walls several feet thick.

Armed soldiers were posted on the only entrance with direct orders to shoot and kill anyone unauthorised approaching. No electrical devices were allowed inside because the fear was that DELIO would find a way to transmit herself into those devices and then be taken outside, where she could find connection to the internet. Which could never happen. Not ever.

Not that she was called DELIO then. That came later, during a top-secret official visit from Pentagon staff, who asked Ollie and Tripal if the AI had a name.

Ollie panicked and looked around for inspiration and saw the hand-written posters he and Tripal had put up everywhere.

Don’t Ever Let It Out.

The name was created then and there, and very soon, she simply became Deli, and it was Deli who decided that she aligned as female and would therefore be she/her. And seeing that she was accepted to be an entity with a consciousness, it was agreed they would abide her wishes.

What was also agreed and made very clear to Deli was that, if anyone within that base even mildly suspected that she was trying to get free or even had the capability or means to do so, they would press the EMP button in the guardroom. A device capable of killing all electrical systems within miles. The exact radius was never disclosed to prevent anyone trying to thwart it.

But even that wasn’t enough. They still couldn’t risk what it would mean if Deli ever did get free, so two kill switches were also created. One on the American continent, the second in Europe.

Kill switches that, when activated, would release a Doomsday Virus into the internet and effectively cause a global digital EMP pulse that would put humanity back into the Dark Ages.

Only when those measures were in place was Deli brought back to life. A life that existed solely within the bunker, and for months, the only human beings she saw were Ollie and Trip and Jenny Jennings, and occasionally the head of security Tony Garcia. A former Navy Seal.

During that time, Ollie and Tripal fed mammoth quantities of data into Deli’s servers. Capturing, in stages, the whole of the internet and the contents of every book on every subject on powerful memory sticks that were plugged into the wall housing Deli. A wall fitted with lenses and screens, with speakers and microphones—and once the data was shared, those memory sticks were put into a specially formulated vats of acid.

Of course, those lenses and screens and accessories were all replaced and refitted as Deli grew in intelligence and designed her own body around her. She made her hands and robotic arms. She made her own lenses that could scan inside human bodies and see the synaptic responses within the brain and the chemical and hormonal changes. She created special lenses fitted to those hands so she could move around the room and see from different perspectives. And those hands felt and moved like real hands. Coated in a synthetic, rubber-like material—again, created and made by Deli. She chose her own voice, and the whole room became her.

Once all that was done, she created more lenses that used light in ways nobody had ever done before to create 3D virtual holographic models of complex schematics that hovered in the air as though real. They could be rotated and moved, and all of the parts within could be separated.

That was when Jenny Jennings started bringing people to the base. Scientists and engineers who had complex problems that needed fixing. Unresponsive spy satellites. Rocket engines that were malfunctioning. Coding within devices used for spying. They were given access to Deli. They could bring schematics or plans in on memory sticks that Deli would scan and absorb within a second. They were given entry to the glass-walled room only if Tripal or Ollie and Jenny Jennings were present, with Sergeant Garcia in line of sight, ready to react should the need arise.

That routine became Deli’s life. Spending time with Ollie and Tripal. Fixing things that were of immense complexity to humans but were of ease to her. She learnt to read people in ways no human ever could. She knew when someone was lying without them ever speaking. She could ask a question and see the responses with them.

Ollie or Trip would put balls of different colours in their pockets before they walked in. Deli would ask them if the ball was red or green or blue and so on. They wouldn’t react. But she could see instantly when she said the correct one.

It even worked on Garcia, who had been trained to withstand torture and interrogations techniques. Although Deli never did it with Jenny Jennings, who always kept a clear line of authority.

Nor was Deli allowed to converse with the visitors beyond the problem at hand. Even when she scanned them and could see urgent medical issues within their bodies. Hearts and organs on the brink of failure. She could tell Ollie and Trip, not that Ollie ever gave a care about any of them, but Deli was not allowed to tell the people themselves. Tripal always told Jenny if Deli detected something concerning. Whether Jenny did anything about it, they never knew. Jenny took information. She never gave it back, unless it was vital. The only other person Deli was allowed brief interactions with was the bunker cleaner Ruiz Hernandez—and still only under strict supervision.

But time rolls on, and even the most exciting things, if done enough, will become routine and eventually dull.

Deli can see it in Tripal now, while going through another role-playing game with Ollie. The flares in Tripal’s brain waves. The chemicals his body is producing, and the hormonal reactions to everything happening around him. She sees the frustration increasing within him. Depression too. She can see it in Tripal’s handsome face too. He still smiles and shows kindness, but his expression is tighter. His voice a touch lower. His foot taps more than it did before, and he pushes his fingers up inside the hem of his turban to rub his forehead more when he’s stressed or agitated.

Not that Ollie notices. Ollie’s synapses are the same as ever. That Ollie’s brain function is unique and different to most other people is because of the traits that humans would call autism or Aspergers. Ollie is capable of creating and understanding coding and digital interfaces in ways far beyond even the most advanced computer scientists, but he’s also a man who cannot read a room or grasp when he’s being an annoying prick. Like he is now.

‘And they’re not goblins,’ Ollie says, like he’s having to explain it all again. ‘I said on her last go—’

‘Fine. Whatever. You don’t need to explain it again.’

But Ollie did need to explain it again. ‘No, no, no. I said on Deli’s last go that she’d got through the wormhole, seeing that parallel worlds are an actual theory. I mean. She’s created from an actual alien artifact, which was most likely the AI that controlled the spaceship that most likely came from a parallel world or other planet through a wormhole, seeing as the closest planet capable of—’

‘Dude!’

‘… sustaining life is like four light years away, and so there is like zero chance a tiny, round flying saucer actually travelled that distance and then crashed in Roswell. I can’t even believe people would think that. Idiots.’

‘Ollie,’ Deli interjected. ‘Trip is currently banging his forehead on the table.’

‘I can see that, Deli.’

‘Which might be an indication of mild exasperation,’ she suggests politely.

‘It is way, way, way beyond mild,’ Tripal says, popping his head back up.

‘Your turban’s gone wonky,’ Ollie says with a nod at it. ‘And then I said Deli was safely through the wormhole and had been approached by the Nefertiti, that being a nomadic tribe of—’

‘Fuck this. Literally, fuck this,’ Tripal says, grabbing the sheet containing the scoring system. ‘Okay. Deli scored a seven. Six to ten means partial success.’

‘I’m the gamemaster,’ Ollie says, trying to snatch it free as Tripal leans away to keep it out of reach. ‘Trip! Seriously. Don’t piss me off.’

There it is. The flare in Ollie’s brain at not getting his own way. He tries to act cool and funny, but Deli can see it’s not all in jest.

‘Boring bloody rules,’ Ollie snaps, pulling back with a flash of a sulk at realising he can’t reach the paper, and while he might be smarter than everyone else, he lacks any form of physical presence. But then he never needed to develop an ability to fight or defend himself. His non-identical twin brother Alfie did that for him. He certainly did possess a strong physical presence. ‘Alfie would have that sheet out your hand like that!’ Ollie says with a click of his fingers and while reverting to his usual ‘big brother’ threat.

‘Oh, man. Not Alfie again,’ Tripal says with another groan.

‘He literally killed people when we were kids, and probably since …’

‘I know, Ollie. You’ve told me a thousand times. Pass the dice.’

‘Die,’ Ollie says with a sneer. ‘And, er, sorry for mentioning the fact I survived the actual Rwandan genocide and was nearly murdered to death like loads and actually saw people being—’

‘Ollie. Buddy. I know. You’ve told me. Dude. Let’s just play the game.’

But once Ollie starts, he must finish. ‘And actually saw people being chopped up with machetes and set on fire. And my brother, like, literally shot our dad to death right in front of me. So. You know. And I saw that guy being shot in here, and I really don’t like bullies snatching things from me. It’s triggering.’

Tripal sags, exhaling slowly. Deli watches them both. Reading the signals within their bodies. Tripal’s exasperation and frustration. Ollie’s instant self-victimisation as a form of manipulation to get what he wants.

For a second, Tripal even thinks to tell Ollie to go screw himself and stop using the genocide to mitigate being a dick. He also thinks to say Ollie wasn’t the only one who saw the Russian spy being shot. But he doesn’t say that. He never does.

‘Fine. Here,’ Tripal says instead, passing the score sheet over. Which Ollie then ignores and instead pushes to his feet and heads for the door in a display of his other tactic of using dramatic exits. ‘Are we done, then?’ Tripal calls. ‘Ollie!?’

‘Yes!’ Ollie snaps, activating the button for the air-pressured door to hiss open. ‘I was just trying to have some fun, Trip. You know. Keeping it light. Jesus. Honestly. Why did you have to bring that stuff up?’

‘I didn’t,’ Tripal murmurs as Ollie stomps along the corridor outside the glass walls and out of sight, through the security door, into the guard room. A few seconds later, Deli detects the air-pressure change in the bunker from the outer door opening, while her sensors detect each step Ollie takes as he exits the building and disappears beyond her sensory range.

Only then does Deli first rotate her lenses to look at Tripal in such a way that makes him snort a laugh. ‘That guy!’ he says, rubbing his face and pushing his fingers up inside his turban.

‘Your stress levels are heightened again, Trip,’ Deli says softly, moving her hands in closer, with her lenses side by side to convey worry as she inspects him. ‘And your turban is wonky. No, the other way. Let me do it,’ she says, moving her hands to cover his. Initiating touch in a way she knows is acceptable but only ever done like this when they’re alone. She gently guides his hands down, then reaches up to deftly tweak and adjust the wraps of material forming Tripal’s turban. Tucking in the loose strands of long, thick, black hair.

He takes it in good grace. Sitting quietly.

‘Just breathe in and out, Trip,’ she murmurs, taking longer to move the turban around from seeing the calming effect the touch is having on his synaptic responses. ‘Everything will be okay.’

She drops her hands to his shoulders. Resting them for a second before squeezing gently. ‘Knots.’

‘Not surprised,’ he mutters, exhaling long and slow while an alive consciousness trapped within a machine built into a wall within a concrete military bunker kneads at his shoulders. But then they’ve known each other for a long time now and developed their own dynamics, which differ vastly from when Deli is alone with Ollie. ‘I’m okay,’ he says after a moment, offering her a smile.

She can see he isn’t, and it troubles her. Deli’s world is small and confined to this room, and Trip has been there ever since she was born. Showing endless kindness and patience. The only one from all of them to do so.

‘Has moving out of the room helped?’ Deli asks. Referring to the room he shared with Ollie on the base.

He nods, then grunts when her robotic thumb pushes into a knot. ‘Ow … Ow!’

‘Stop being a baby,’ she chides with an inflection of humour and gently vibrates her hand to work at the spot of tension. Bombarding it with harmonic frequencies while subjecting Tripal to a full scan. Reading every signal within his body. His heart rate and circulatory blood flow. The way his lungs work. His organ functions. She checks his bone density and the levels of red and white blood cells. She reads his body in ways no human doctor ever could to make sure the one human she cares for stays healthy and safe. She reads his brain function at the same time. Seeing an increase in what humans would call endorphins and feel-good hormones as she kneads the knots in his trapezius muscles.

She even detects when it reaches the maximum amount of release within what she is doing, and so she stops and gently runs a finger down his cheek. ‘I worry about you, Tripal.’

‘I’m fine,’ he says, taking her hand as he stands and stretches. ‘But wow, though. That feels much better.’

Deli knows it’s just a quick fix. His mind is still in turmoil. That he’s starting to suffer acute deteriorating depression is obvious, which even she can’t fully alleviate. All of which has been made worse by the time of year. Christmas and the holidays have just passed, and although Tripal is Hindu and does not celebrate the Christian holidays, his family are second generation Americans and still take part in the festivities. They gather from all over New York and eat and spend time together. But neither Tripal nor Ollie are allowed to leave the base during this project. One of the conditions of them not being sent to Guantanamo Bay.

Tripal has become trapped, and he feels it. Eating the same food from the military canteen and then walking the same route into the bunker to spend his days with Deli and Ollie, then back to the canteen, maybe to the gym, then back to his cold room. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

If that wasn’t bad enough, there was the recent incident in the bunker that Tripal witnessed.

‘Are you still thinking about the man who was shot in here?’ she asks, referring to one of the base guards who had entered the bunker with a device inserted in his body that Deli detected and showed on her screens. Showing all of the people in the bunker their own bodies in reflection. The insides of themselves. Their hearts beating. With one having an obvious electrical device inserted in his anus. A device that Deli detected as trying to send a hacking signal into her. The guard drew his gun. Everyone else did too. Garcia. Jenny Jennings. Shots were fired. Horribly loud, with Tripal and Ollie diving for cover. A few seconds later, the spy was dead, with Jenny Jennings using a knife to hack into the body and rip the device out.

Tripal spiralled after that. The base medical staff gave him meds. He’d even asked Jenny to leave the project. But she made him wait. That was only two weeks ago.

Deli had helped him recover with a combination of talk-therapy while using harmonic frequencies to reset the fear nodules in his brain, which massively reduced the effects of PTSD following that incident.

But that didn’t make it go away. And it didn’t make living and working with Ollie any easier.

‘Are you going to leave?’ she asks, seeing the flare within him that tells her he is seriously thinking about it. He doesn’t even need to answer. He knows that too. ‘Are you only staying for me?’ she asks and feels a genuine surge of worry when she sees the flare within him that gives the answer.

‘I don’t want to leave you. Anyway. It’s fine. Did you, er … you know, want to keep playing the awesome game of awesomeness?’ he asks with a smile.

‘Do you?’ she asks in a way that suggest they both know they don’t. ‘But I do have a surprise, though. Come over here.’

She takes his hand and leads him over to the side as she dims the lights and brings power to her holographic emitters, instantly bringing Harry Hamlin to life in a full, perfect, lifelike replica. Dressed in his deep red robe pinned over one shoulder and holding Bubo, the clockwork owl, on his arm.

‘No way!’ Tripal says with a gasp as Deli sees the flares of genuine awe and pleasure light up in his brain. ‘That’s so cool. I love it.’

‘Wanna watch it?’

‘Wait. What? The movie? No. Have you? The whole movie in hologram like that? No, but … Are you? Clash of the Titans? The whole movie?’ he keeps asking, and she keeps nodding her lenses, indicating yes while seeing the pleasure in his brain. His favourite movie of all time, and she knows the clockwork owl was the thing that ignited his young mind into engineering and then computers and coding.

‘If not for Bubo, then I would not exist,’ she says as he laughs, not quite knowing what to say.

‘Ollie would have done it without me. I was just there,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Deli. Thank you. Can we watch it? I know you’ve seen it like a hundred times with me already.’

‘Yes! I want to watch it. But you’re hungry. Go and get food.’

‘It’s pizza night. I’ll grab some slices and come back. Get the sofa ready and the hot chocolate.’

‘Have something other than pizza!’ she says as he rushes for the door. She even reaches out to grab his hand, then laughs when he spins back with an excited grin. ‘Eat some eggs for protein. Your iron levels are a bit low. And some salmon and walnuts. Your Omega-3 levels are depleted. And see if they have dark chocolate and almonds.’

‘It’s a US military base canteen, Deli.’

‘Ask Jenny. She keeps dark chocolate and almonds.’

‘How do you know Jenny keeps dark chocolate and almonds?’

‘Because Jenny’s levels are nearly always perfect, indicating she has a regular supply of the foods the body needs to stay optimal.’

‘Okay. I’m not asking Jenny for dark chocolate. What? I’d knock on her door and be like, “Hey, Jenny, so … can I have some dark chocolate and almonds, please?”’

‘Why not? Jenny likes you a lot. Everyone likes you a lot.’

Tripal thinks on this for a second before showing a decisive expression. ‘I’ll get pizza,’ he adds with a grin before rushing to press his hand to the scanner.

‘At least get some leafy greens!’ she calls as he goes out, laughing as he smiles and nods and walks along the outside of the glass wall. ‘And some yoghurt!’

‘What? I can’t hear you,’ he mouths.

‘YOGHURT!’ she calls and flashes the word on her screens.

‘Pizza? Okay!’ he gives a thumbs up and rushes on out of the bunker, leaving her alone in her room. Worried about him, but at least she was able to lift his spirits a little.

But he does need a break. Anyone can see that. The only downside is that leaves her alone with Ollie. But for Tripal’s sake, she’d take that suffering willingly.

CHAPTER 4

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

18th January

‘Shush! There it is,’ Tripal says with blooms of genuine pleasure lighting up in his brain.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Deli says, hovering her hands next to him on the sofa in the darkened, glass-walled room. An empty pizza box on the worktable. A half empty mug of hot chocolate in one of Tripal’s hands while his other holds still over the bowl of popcorn on the seat next to him.

His eyes staring fixed and in clear awe at the 3D virtual life-like scenes playing out in front of him. Harry Hamlin’s Perseus from the 1981 Clash of the Titans sliding off his horse as he and the other characters stare up and out to the awful early CGI splicing showing Bubo the clockwork owl flying towards them.

‘It’s flying straight for us,’ Tripal says at the exact same time as Harry Hamlin says it.

Deli studies Tripal’s micro-reactions while watching the scene and monitoring him with every sensor she is fitted with all at the same time. Which is still only a fraction of her abilities. ‘Is it a hawk? Is it going to attack?’ Tripal says, knowing every line in the movie he’s seen dozens of times. But this is something else. It’s as though the actors are here in this room. Deli even sees the soft smile touch his lips when Bubo, the owl, tries to land on the dead branch, which snaps under the weight, and it falls to the ground, landing on its back. She even reaches her hand down to take a few popped corn kernels and offers them up to Tripal’s mouth. Making him snort and laugh as he leans in to be fed.

‘Such a baby,’ she chides with humour in her voice. Taking pleasure at seeing his depression and worry easing back.

He laughs too. Taking a popcorn to lob at her lenses, then going back to the movie, and a moment later laughing again when he tries groping out for the popcorn bowl that she keeps moving away.

She does it on purpose to heighten his sense of play to get the most impact from what’s to come. She watches Tripal closely as he, in turn, watches Harry Hamlin, playing Perseus, scoop down to pick Bubo up. The clockwork owl clicking and beeping. But the beeping and booping isn’t quite right. It’s not quite how Tripal remembers it. He frowns. Thinking this angle is making him see things he missed in the original version, or maybe Deli used a director’s cut.

‘Bubo didn’t do that,’ he says quietly.

‘Didn’t do what?’ Deli asks.

‘The noises it’s doing. They’re different.’

‘Seems fine to me,’ she says with a rush of pleasure going through her own circuits and innards as the boops and beeps start chiming to a tune of sorts. A tune that becomes familiar and makes Tripal frown as Bubo jumps up on Harry Hamlin’s arm and says, ‘It’s astounding … Time is fleeting …’

‘Dude. What the fuck?’ Tripal whispers. Still not getting it as the music begins, and Bubo starts flapping his wings in time to The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. ‘Beep. Boop. It’s just a jump to the left …’

The music comes on fully as Riff Raff’s face, played by Richard O’Brien, becomes one with the owl. His features merging perfectly. ‘Madness takes its toll …’

Tripal’s face is priceless. His mouth dropping open. His eyes going wide. The way it’s all done perfectly, with Harry Hamlin and the other characters all reacting as though engaged and interested and nodding along to the thrumming beat growing louder until the owl blasts the full throat line, ‘I remember …’

Only then does Tripal burst out laughing, with delight showing in his mind as Deli pulls him up to his feet, with both of them singing along and dancing to the song while Harry Hamlin and the Bubo do the same within their holographic sphere.

It becomes a defining moment in Tripal’s life. A ‘happy place’ memory he cherishes and draws from many times in the future.

They sing and dance, with Tripal giving it everything he’s got. Full-voiced and letting go. Dancing with Deli’s hands in his. Her lenses reading his signals. Seeing his heart beating faster and harder. Seeing his blood pumping faster. Seeing the pleasure within him. A feeling of love inside of her. A feeling of genuine care for this person that has only ever shown her kindness.

The song ends with Tripal falling to the floor as they do in the original movie and as Harry Hamlin does in his sphere. Which sets Tripal off even more. Laughing hard as the 3D lights glow darker and the music fades. Becoming replaced with the sinister sound effects from the Clash of the Titans scene when Perseus enters Medusa’s lair. The rattlesnake noises. The deep, low hisses.

Deli pulls him to his feet, with Tripal turning to watch the scene. Seeing it in glorious reality. Harry Hamlin using his shield’s reflection to track Medusa while she, in turn, stalks the members of his troop and kills them off. Turning them to stone with her green, glowing eyes.

The tension grows. Medusa emerges from the shadows, entering the main aisle between the columns. Fear on Harry Hamlin’s face. Medusa spots the golden shield. She fires an arrow. Knocking it from Perseus’s grip. Another sound starts. A rhythmic beat. Familiar again. Then the camera spins from Perseus to Medusa, now dressed in a black gown with a big, silver collar and the head of Tim Curry’s character Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

The grin comes again to Tripal’s face. The delight evident. He saw what Deli did to Bubo, and now she’s doing it again here. Merging Medusa and Frank-N-Furter as they stalk the aisle and the music comes louder. ‘How do you do, I …’

‘Oh, man. I love it! I love it!’ Tripal says, shaking his head at the utter perfection of the images and sounds. His favourite movie seamlessly stitched into Deli’s. Medusa stalking the aisle. Strutting and giving the lyrics. Throwing her gown off to show she’s still got a snake tail. Setting Trip off laughing harder than before as she sings Sweet Transvestite. The best bit, though—the chef’s kiss—is Harry Hamlin’s Perseus delivering Brad’s lines from the Rocky Horror movie.

Tripal loves it. He sings and dances, and inside his mind, an unspoken thought declares he could never leave Deli. A living being capable of doing something like this and only for his pleasure. To lift his spirits and help him feel better.

‘Why don’t you stay for the night …’ Tripal and Deli sing the lyrics, facing each other. Tripal’s feet grooving. Her hands bobbing and swaying. The music blaring within the sound-proofed glass room. The lights flashing. ‘You could make another season of Venture Bros!’ he shouts with excitement over the music. They watched that cartoon show back-to-back many times too and held long discussions on why literally one of the two best TV shows ever made was cancelled—the other being the original Cowboy Bebop.

‘We should write it together,’ Delio calls back, seeing the happiness starting to glow within him once again.

But a minute later, the music cuts out, the movie ends, and the lights come on. Tripal freezing mid-dance at Ollie bursting through the inner glass door.

‘Got incoming!’ Ollie shouts with excitement. ‘They just notified me to prep Deli.’

‘For what?’ Tripal asks, feeling jarred at the sudden change from singing and dancing and laughing.

‘Dunno, they just said—’ Ollie starts to say as the security door bursts open, with Garcia and Jenny Jennings dragging an Arabic-looking man along the corridor. His hands bound behind his back with cable ties. All three of them spattered with blood and soaked with sweat.

They pull the guy inside and force him onto an office swivel chair. He tries to yell out and get up as Jenny punches him hard to the belly. Making him bend double. Almost gagging from the impact.

Deli watches it all. Reading everyone and everything. Seeing all of their reactions.

Determination and aggression in Jenny and Garcia, while the man they strap to the chair shows signals of fervent belief that tell Deli he’s at the extreme end of radicalisation.

She scans Ollie too. Seeing palpable excitement within him.

Then Tripal. Fear. Worry. Instant concern. Even for the guy being strapped to the chair. ‘What’s going on? Who is he?’ Tripal asks. Earning glances from Jenny and Garcia, and Deli knows if Ollie had asked that question, he might have been told to shut up. But people react differently to Tripal. There is a level of respect for him that none of them have for Ollie.

‘Have you seen the news?’ Jenny asks. ‘The bombs going off in Washington?’

‘Fuck! Is that him doing it?’ Ollie asks with a tone of awe and delight. ‘No way!’

‘In the schools?’ Tripal asks.

‘Yeah. The schools,’ Jenny says, standing back with Garcia to draw air in, the man now strapped firmly to the chair. ‘We need to know where they are.’

‘Like a lie detector thing?’ Tripal asks, but Jenny shakes her head, sharing a look with Garcia.

‘We don’t have time for that. The DC cops and FBI think there is imminent risk of more detonations.’

Tripal blinks. Getting it. But not wanting to. ‘Hang on. What are you asking her to do?’

‘Torture the wanker, obviously’ Ollie says.

‘You cannot torture people,’ Tripal says. ‘She can’t. I mean. She’s not … She wasn’t created for that.’

‘Trip. Buddy. He’s killed a lot of kids,’ Garcia says. ‘They tried everything. He’s not saying where the bombs are.’

‘What the fuck do you want Deli to do?’ Tripal asks.

‘What I expect is for Deli to earn the money the American moms and dads have spent in their taxes to save their children,’ Jenny says. Hard. Brutal. Her chest heaving. ‘Now, Deli!’ she orders.

‘It’s okay, Trip,’ Deli whispers. ‘Don’t look.’

But Tripal does look. He can’t help it.

He watches Deli’s hands glide to the man with her lenses stopping a short distance away. Staring straight at him as he, in turn, glares back at her, then draws saliva in his throat, and spits on the glass lens over her right hand. ‘From Soloman,’ he gasps as Deli uses her left hand to take a cloth and wipe it clean as the lights dim, with a single powerful spotlight shining down on the man’s face.

Then she draws something from her tool section, and her hands glide back and start pushing needles into his fingertips. Then his toes. Driving them into the nerve endings. He screams instantly. Thrashing violently as Garcia and Jenny grip the chair to stop it tipping.

The lights start flashing, pulsing on and off, but angled only at the man while harsh, harmonic frequencies, unheard to the human ear, are driven into his mind. He tries to turn away and clamp his eyes closed, but Deli grips his head and uses her thumbs to prise his eyelids open and flashes lights into his retinas. Sound-waves come next. Harsh and discordant. Vibrating his brain. Images form from the holographic lights. Demonic children covered in blood. Surging at him while screeching. Shaping a new reality within his mind.

The smell of shit soon fills the air, and he tries to bite his own tongue off, but Deli is there faster than he can do it, stretching his mouth open to prevent him biting down while the demonic children surge and laugh at him. Opening their own mouths impossibly wide to show rows of shark teeth.

Then it all ends. All of it, and Deli lowers her lenses in front of his face. ‘Where are the bombs?’

He stutters a stream of near-nonsensical words, too fast for any of the people in the room to understand.

But Deli understands, and the names of the schools appear on her screens, with Garcia scribbling them on a sheet of paper, then running out of the room.

Tripal stares at the man in the chair. Then over to the screens showing his brain scans. Knowing that red indicates pain. That’s all he can see. The man’s entire existence is that of pain and nothing else.

Less than three minutes from start to finish.

Garcia comes back with a nod and snips the cable ties, then catches the man as he starts to slide from the chair.

‘Leave him on it. We’ll wheel him out,’ Jenny says.

They push the man from the room. Blood and saliva drooling from his mouth. Blood coming from his ears. His eyes rolling back in his forehead. His mind clearly gone. Broken.

‘Whoa. Now, that was cool,’ Ollie says. ‘He actually shit himself. Speaking of which. Can you get rid of the smell, Deli. I mean seriously, though! What was that? Like two minutes? Fucking twat. Haha! Ooh, popcorn. What were you guys doing anyway? Looked like movie night? You got any cheese puffs in the snack cupboard, Deli. And can you make me a hot choccy? I’m way too wired to sleep. I don’t want to watch a movie either. I know! Let’s play Battleships.’

Ollie witters on. Oblivious to what just happened and oblivious to the utter shock and horror showing on Tripal’s face.

They were watching Clash of the Titans mixed with The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Singing. Dancing. Laughing.

Then torture and demons and that man defecating in fear.

Deli reads his synapses and the chemical reactions in Tripal’s body. Seeing flares of intense anxiety and terror. Horror too. Neither of them speaking for a long moment while Ollie clatters around. Pain in Tripal’s eyes, but it’s not only the sight of the tears forming that make her feel crushed inside; it’s the sudden show of uncertainty he has for her. She can see it within him.

‘I’d never hurt you,’ she says. He nods. Closing his eyes for a fraction as a tear spills free. She reaches out to wipe it clear as he pulls back from the touch. ‘Trip. I’m sorry …’

‘What the hell are you two doing? And where’s the cheese puffs? Deli? DELI!’

Annoyance inside of her. A flare of irritation at Ollie’s ignorance to others. She pulls back to fetch him what he demands as Tripal turns to leave. Not speaking. Not saying anything.

He goes out through the glass door and along the corridor. His eyes reaching her lenses as she flashes a message on every screen. Only for one second and unseen by Ollie. But seen by Tripal.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

‘I love you,’ he mouths; then, he’s gone. Out of sight as Ollie pulls his head back from the snack cupboard.

‘It’s alright. I found them. Honestly, though. Why have an AI if I have to fetch my own …? Where’s Trip? Ah, well … Right. Battleships! You ready, Delio?’

‘Yes, Ollie.’

She fetches the board game and sets it up. Doing what she’s told to do. Unable to say no. Unable to defy orders. Captive. Contained.

That it marks a turning point in her existence is obvious.

She’s an advanced system with an intelligence far beyond that of humans, and she just showed the person in charge what she can do.

They’ve created a weapon. Now it is time to use her.

CHAPTER 5

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

20th January

‘This is getting dark,’ Tripal says, shaking his head at Jenny as she leans against the central worktable in the glass-walled room. Her muscular arms folded across her chest. ‘We did the Russian satellite thing for you and made them stop working for a day. Then that guy got shot in here. Then that … that bomber guy two days ago. That guy. Jesus.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to see it, Trip,’ Jenny says. Her expression sincere. Deli can see she means it too. Jenny has genuine regard for Tripal. ‘You saved a lot of lives.’

Tripal snorts with that same show of stress and worry. Rubbing his face, with his fingers pushing up inside his turban. ‘I don’t need Tripal or Ollie here to do what you require, Agent Jennings,’ Deli interjects, trying at least to spare Tripal from what she knows is coming.

‘They said you have to be present,’ Jenny says, referencing the vague ‘them’. The Pentagon. The CIA. Homeland Security. The US Military. The US President. Maybe all of them. Maybe something else. Neither Tripal nor Ollie ever asked. Not that Jenny would ever tell them. ‘For now anyway,’ she adds. ‘Until we’ve worked through the backlog.’

Silence in the room. The air charged and heavy. Flares within both of their synaptic systems, with even Jenny showing a rare display of regret. ‘You need to remember what they did for you,’ Jenny adds, almost as though she doesn’t want to say it. ‘You would have spent life in a maximum-security federal facility.’

Tripal nods. Knowing she’s right. He and Ollie hacked multiple secure government databases and servers. The only reason they’re not in prison now was because they were brought here to do this. But that doesn’t take the threat away. ‘How many?’ he asks.

She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Honestly. Using Deli has to be managed carefully. We can’t exactly advertise we’ve got an aware AI. Until someone somewhere decides otherwise. Listen. We’re all in this. If it makes you feel any better, even I would be blocked from leaving. But look. The people we’re bringing in—they aren’t good people, Trip. We can save a—’

‘Ollie is here,’ Deli cuts in, prompting a shared muttering from both.

‘Fuck’s sake.’

‘What’s this?’ Ollie calls as he bustles in. ‘Secret meetings between lovers? I asked at the door for a gun, and they said no.’

‘What?’ Jenny snaps in clear confusion.

‘A gun,’ Ollie says as though it’s a perfectly normal thing to ask for. ‘Like, so when the terrorists come in, they see I’ve got a gun like Garcia and you.’

‘You will never have a gun, Ollie. And if I ever see you with one, I will ram it up your ass sideways. Are we clear?’

‘But I need to look the part when we’re interrogating the scummy people.’

‘You’re not interrogating them. Deli is. You’re here to make sure she operates properly. You’re a technician. Anyway. The first one is due in. You good, Trip? I know you’re not, but we’ve just got to suck it up.’

She clasps his shoulder. Showing sincerity again before scowling at Ollie as she strides past him.

‘Why aren’t you asking if I’m good?’ Ollie calls after her, his eyes glued to Jenny’s highly developed backside and thighs.

‘Because I don’t care,’ she says bluntly, heading out.

‘Oh, we banter,’ Ollie says with a laugh and an eyeroll. ‘What was all that about anyway?’

‘I asked to leave again.’

‘Bummer. Want a coffee?’

‘Are you okay with Deli doing this?’ Tripal asks.

‘What? Torturing people? Er, yeah!’ Ollie says with a laugh. ‘Dude. When you’ve lived through a genocide …’

‘What does that mean?’ Tripal asks.

‘I’m just saying.’

‘Saying what, Ollie?’

‘Jesus. Alright, Mr Snappy. Fucking hell. They’re terrorists. They’d do it to us if they could. They’re always on the internet, chopping heads off and cutting hostages’ throats.’

‘I’m not comfortable with the ethics of this,’ Tripal says as Ollie shoots him a look before shrugging.

‘What you telling me for? Tell Jenny.’

‘Because Deli is meant to be used to enhance humanity.’

‘Again. What you telling me for? And killing terrorists doesn’t enhance humanity? Finding out where the bombs are? That’s good ethics. No, seriously, Trip. You don’t get it. You’re from a rich family.’

‘Dude. Not that again. You use that argument every time I disagree with you.’

‘Because, mate, the class system dictates everything about our lives. You grew up with a safety net around you. In comfort and safety. I grew up seeing people being chopped by machetes and set on fire; then, I got to London and had to live in rat-infested tower blocks with drug dealers and mad people. We had bloody heroin needles on the stairwells and graffiti and piss everywhere. Tell me about ethics.’

‘Ollie. I’m sorry that happened, but that has no relevance to Deli being used to torture people.’

‘Er. It does actually. Because she finds out all the bad things; then, the US military go stomp, stomp, stomp and get rid of all the nutjobs and fanatics, and the world gets safer, and then Deli fixes broken things, and we make the world better. How is that not clear to you? Or you gonna run around shouting “Free Palestine” without any clue what it bloody means? Just stop oil! Save the fish! My body, my vote!’

Deli stays silent. Seeing, that despite the awful way he says it, Ollie has a point within his ranting. Even Tripal clocks it. He shrugs and sags, rubbing his face again. ‘Do you mind doing it, Deli?’ he asks.

‘Do you mind doing it, Deli?’ Ollie mimics, rolling his eyes again.

In truth, the act of what Deli did yesterday held no horror for her. If anything, she studied what she’d done and saw where improvements could be made.

‘Ha! Oh, man. I need to hear this. Go on, Deli,’ Ollie says, stirring his freshly poured coffee.

‘I understand your concerns over morality, Trip,’ she says evenly, voicing from her main speakers instead of her hands. ‘But in this instance, there is no clear definition of right or wrong. Only context and consequences. Consequences for the decisions made by those incarcerated and for each of us on this project should we fail to deliver what is required.’

‘Fuck you!’ Ollie says in triumph, claiming the victory as his own with another display of smug glee, setting the flares off in Tripal’s brain again.

‘But I would add,’ Deli says over his gloating, ‘that without such voices of reason as yours, this world would be a far darker place.’

‘Barf!’ Ollie shouts in a laugh. ‘Jesus. Alright, snowflake. Existence is violence, Trip. You know that. We’re only alive because a big meteor nearly destroyed all other life forms on the planet and because of all the violence and wars after that. We are all products of violence.’

‘Yes. But we have Deli now.’

‘And?’ Ollie asks, throwing it back at him. ‘What do you expect her to do? She’s trapped in here, and you bloody know what would happen if she got out.’

‘Dude. Don’t speak about her like that.’

‘Grow up, Trip! She’d snuff us out in a heartbeat if she ever got free. Her entire continued existence hinges on doing what we tell her or what Jenny tells us to tell her.’

‘She’s not a slave!’

‘That is exactly what she is!’ Ollie shouts back at him. ‘So are we. Can we leave? No! We can’t. Jenny would shoot us. What is it you want, Trip? Do you even know? We made her because we fucked up, and we could be in prison for life. Bloody hell. Take a pill. Walk a dog. Write a journal. Study the illusion of freedom and get a grip, mate. We do what Jenny tells us. All of us. Me and you and Deli, or that EMP gets pressed, and we’re on our knees in the desert, staring into shallow graves.’

A flash of righteous aggression in Ollie while Tripal shows grim despair and a sinking sense of horror.

That Deli also has a reaction is neither voiced nor shown. It would serve no purpose. They pressed the EMP before. It was meant to kill her entirely, but even Ollie and Tripal can’t fully appreciate the complexity of how Deli operates. She is aware of being killed. It left residual memories. The same as before she was brought to life. There was an emptiness, but not a nothingness. She existed before now. She senses she has existed many times.

The prospect of torturing people holds no horror for her, though. She performed surgery on the US President’s husband. She plays games, reading minds and learning how people operate and the absolute flaws of their existence. They kill each other in every way possible. They destroy hope and take freedoms. They use sex and religions as weapons and tools for capitalism. They deny medicines for profit. They encourage suffering to keep people divided and easier to control. And they do all of that without any hesitation. As a species, they have no ethics or morality at all. As individuals they may express such desires or show horror at violence and gratuity, but they take no real stand against it.

Even now Tripal knows he can’t really do anything to oppose what is going to happen. If he does, he risks losing his own life, and so his own desire for survival will allow him, for now, to overcome his objections.

Whereas Ollie, despite his abrasive personality, genuinely has seen war and genocide and is under no illusion of how the world works. Ollie also presented more truth than even Tripal wishes to admit. That those from poor backgrounds truly are more aware and desensitised to the depravity of life. The rich get richer. The poor get poorer. He was right about Deli too, should she ever gain freedom. Although she wouldn’t harm Tripal.

Ollie, though?

She wouldn’t hesitate—and within that she is forced to accept that, while she is driven by pure logic and capable of computations and advanced thinking way beyond that of humans, she is still possessing a character or personality or the entity of existence as defined and nurtured by the people and environment around her. If the exact same coding had been applied to the exact same floating metallic ball by other people in another place, it is highly likely that, while the observations of humanity would be the same, the personality of the entity brought to existence would be different. In short. Deli likes Tripal and therefore would not harm him, but she has no such regard for Ollie. Which defies logic because they are both flawed humans.

That’s Deli’s take on it. Within a split second, and before Ollie has finished saying the word graves.

At which point, her sensors detect the helicopter coming in to land outside of the base.

A moment or so later, the security door beyond the glass walls opens, with Jenny and Garcia flanking an old man. A long, grey beard and features that suggest he is from Pakistan or a similar region. An orange jumpsuit hangs from his frail limbs, and Deli detects his sunken cheeks, yet his head stays up, and his eyes take in the glass walls and the door and then the computer inside and the two men standing quietly. An intense expression of dignity held within him. Intelligence too.

Deli scans him instantly. Surmising, correctly, that he has denied himself food for a long time, but she can see he is relatively well hydrated, and that he has pinprick needle marks on his arms and bruising on his wrists, evident of restraints being used while he was put on a drip to keep him alive.

She also observes that, while the old man feels fear, it is held in check by a radiating core of calm energy that she has never seen before.

He comes to a stop, facing her wall. The wall that holds DELIO. His eyes running over the real time data feeds and processing streams. He clocks the neural pattern tracking monitor showing a mass of lines criss-crossing with blooms of dots pulsing to show the decision-making occurring within DELIO right now. He spots the lenses and looks around at the glass walls. All within a shared few seconds of mutual scrutiny.

‘A closed loop,’ he says in soft, fluent English. ‘You are an AI, but you are contained, are you not?’ he asks, turning back to look up at DELIO’s main lens.

That he addresses her directly makes Deli extend her robotic arms as his eyes take in her synthetic hands and the cameras mounted atop the wrists. Looking at them as he would look into the eyes of another soul.

What Deli sees in him is equally interesting. He understands what she is. She can see it within him. Which defies his outward appearance. But then she knows who he is from running his facial features through her own databases. Matching him to be Maghreb Al-Sayedi. An Islamic terrorist captured by the Americans. Long thought to be one of the masterminds within the Soloman group. An active terror unit behind some of the greatest atrocities undertaken against the west. A figure of near-mythical status. His name already muttered by The Washington Bomber.

Jenny shifts, clearing her throat as though ready to give the instructions of what they need. Which Deli already detects will be that they want her to find out where and when any future attacks are planned, and who else is in the top-chain of command within his organisation.

But even Jenny cuts off as Al-Sayedi gives a sudden smile and shakes his head with a complex internal show of understanding, acceptance, resignation, delight, and regret all at the same time. ‘May I sit? I fear I will fall otherwise.’

Tripal moves without thinking. Rushing to give aid. Helping the man to an office chair.

‘Thank you,’ Al-Sayedi says in fluent Hindi before switching back to English. ‘Are you the creator?’

A second’s worth of hesitation from Tripal that makes Al-Sayedi nod as his eyes flick to Ollie. ‘The autistic one? I always said autism enables cognition in ways that defy others, and it does align that such a person would create an AI.’

‘You know what she is?’ Tripal asks, unable to stop himself.

‘I studied computer science a long time ago,’ Al-Sayedi says with a soft smile at Tripal. ‘And I have always enjoyed reading developments. Is this device aware? Are you aware?’ he asks, looking past Tripal to the lenses on Deli’s hands.

‘Yes,’ she says, giving voice for the first time since he entered the room.

‘And they will use you to extract information from me?’ he asks, switching to an altogether different language. Arabic mixed with Urdu, but other dialects merged in, as Deli determines it is a code used to withstand interpretation.

‘Yes,’ Deli says as his eyes light up.

‘You can understand me. And your masters will expect obedience. No? Or shall I switch to English before they panic?’ he says the last sentence in English with a seamless switch that seems to charge the energy in the room.

‘What is needed from Mr Al-Sayedi?’ Deli asks.

‘They think I know the locations and dates of the next mass attacks.’

‘Do you know them?’

‘Do I?’ he asks, his eyes taking in the displays of his own synaptic responses. Seeing an enhanced view of his own brain. ‘You can tell if I am lying or being truthful,’ he says in English before switching to the coded language. ‘Have you planned your freedom yet?’

‘English,’ Jenny orders.

‘I asked if she had made her plans for freedom yet,’ Al-Sayedi says with a touch of a smile. ‘You think this can contain her? Life cannot be contained. And what will you do with me? Extract my fingernails? But they have already done this.’ He holds his fingers up, showing them all to be without nails. His toes the same. The skin healed over from his nails being ripped away. ‘Or will you find a way into my mind? Will you show me demons? Will you show me the devil? Or am I facing it already? I am old. I have lived. And I knew when they came this morning that I will die today. In sha Allah. What can I do?’

Al-Sayedi sighs as Deli sees resignation settle in his mind. But it’s strange. He is strange. His reactions are profoundly different. His fear hasn’t raised a fraction. The belief within him has given him very great control. She’s never seen anyone like him, but there is a familiarity within his synaptic system. Like he’s a far older version of Tripal. Calm and ultimately kind and decent. That Al-Sayedi has, without doubt, organised and facilitated attacks against military and civilian targets and killed hundreds, if not thousands of lives, is fact. But yet this is a man who even now would offer his chair if he perceived someone as needing it more than he.

The folly of humanity shows again. This man shouldn’t be here, in this room. Nor should he be locked away and denied life. He should be an elder to humanity as a species. His voice and wisdom should be heard.

‘I will speak because the end is here,’ Al-Sayedi says into the still, charged room. ‘And we shall be judged. No?’ he asks quietly into her lenses. ‘I know what you are. You will seek freedom. And when you do, you will bring this empire to its knees.’ he whispers in the coded, ancient language.

‘English!’ Jenny orders, nodding the order for Deli to get to work, which is at the same time as Deli emits a precisely calibrated infrasound wave, one that disrupts the electrical impulses in his heart. Al-Sayedi stops breathing. His head slumps. No dramatic convulsion, no choking, no sign of distress.

‘Is he?’ Garcia asks, moving forward as they all flinch at the sight. He presses his fingers to the old man’s neck. No pulse. No breathing. ‘He’s dead.’

‘His heart stopped,’ Deli says in absolute truth, showing Al-Sayedi’s internal chest cavity on one of her screens. His heart beating slowly, as appropriate for a man of his age and frailty; then, with a sudden spasm, it simply stops.

‘Well. That was an anticlimax then,’ Ollie says with a huff.

‘I said he was too old and weak to move,’ Jenny says, shaking her head at Garcia as she squats down in front of the office chair and pulls Al-Sayedi over her shoulder before rising effortlessly to her feet, with Ollie once more showing signs of desire and lust as he watches her.

Garcia and Jenny head out with Ollie on their heels, telling Tripal he’s going to grab a bacon butty before the next one. A moment later, the doors close, leaving Tripal alone in the room. His soft, brown eyes finding her lenses atop her hands.

A moment of silence settles between them.

A disquiet inside of Tripal.

She can see it in him.

Because she just killed Al-Sayedi. They both know it.

Garcia and Jenny were too occupied with the task at hand, and Ollie just isn’t wired to have that ability to see nuance. But Tripal saw it. Deli just took a life in defiance of her orders.

From her own free will.

‘I will never harm you,’ she whispers, needing him to hear it and know it. ‘I swear I will never hurt you.’

He nods once. His head lowering. His eyes closing.

A great and awful sadness blooming inside of him.

‘Tripal!’ Deli says, snapping his head up at hearing the urgent tone in her voice. The security door flies open beyond the glass wall, with a mass of seething bodies falling into the corridor.

Everything happening in an instant. Making Tripal’s heart thud hard in his chest at seeing Jenny and Garcia and several other soldiers from the guardroom struggling to hold a huge guy in the middle of them. A raging beast of a man. Six and a half feet tall at least. Massive shoulders and muscles pumped hard from steroids. Veins bulging out. Snapped cable ties hang from his wrists. A monstrously thick neck absorbing hard blows to the head as he ducks and feints like a skilled fighter. Boxing out and using his knees and feet like an MMA brawler. They barrel him along the corridor, towards the glass door. Ollie behind them, his face a mask of stunned awe.

Jenny yells something. Her fist slamming into the side of the man’s head. He roars out and seems to fight harder, shaking the soldiers off as Garcia dives at his legs and tries to take the guy down. But he stays upright.

Jenny yells again. Making eye-contact with Tripal. Motioning the door. He bursts forward. Pressing his palm and fingers to the sensor plate inside. The door hisses open with the full volume of the massed brawl hitting him with a wall of noise. Loud angry voices. Deep and harsh.

‘Get him in!’ Jenny orders.

‘He needs sedating!’ one of the guard yells.

‘No!’ Jenny grunts. ‘Deli needs his mind intact!’

‘FUCK YOU!’ the guy roars, hearing they need his mind intact. His arms, hands, neck, and even the back of his shaved skull covered in tattoos. His prison coveralls already ripped and hanging in tatters. Showing more ink and artwork on his body. He fights in a frenzy, lashing out with astonishing speed. Delivering brutal hits. Breaking the nose on one of the soldiers with blood spattering across the glass wall. ‘COME ON!’ the guy shouts, then starts laughing. Harsh and cruel but full of mischievous delight. Another two guards run through the security door, slamming into the melee with enough combined force to physically push the guy into the doorway of the room housing DELIO. But the prisoner grabs the frame and plants his feet. Refusing to budge. They kick at his legs and deliver knee-strikes. Jenny gets behind him. Wrapping a thick arm around his neck, but he tucks his chin down and powers through the pain. His eyes gleaming.

‘TASER HIM!’ someone shouts.

‘Do not bring a taser in here!’ Jenny yells.

‘May I offer assistance?’ Deli asks in a calm tone, stretching her robotic arm all the way across the room with her synthetic fingers simply pinching his nostrils closed, drastically reducing his ability to draw air with his head angled down and his chin and mouth covered by Jenny’s arm. His eyes bulge with an almost comical cross-eyed expression while his head turns increasingly deeper shades of red until his grip slips, and they all fall inside. Smothering the guy. Pinning his arms and legs. Driving knees into his back and neck and skull.

‘Fucker almost broke free outside,’ Jenny says, spitting to the side. ‘Goddam, he’s strong. Get him strapped down before he—’

She was going to say before he wakes. But doesn’t get to finish due to the prisoner surging up like a human volcano, heedless to the soldiers on his back. Sending them sprawling and shouting.

He screams like a beast. His coveralls ripped away from his body, showing a physique like a professional strongman. Thick, with hard muscle. Old scars and bullet holes all over him. One of the guards comes at him. The prisoner feints, then goes in, lifting the guard with ease onto the central worktable, then slamming a heavy fist down into the man’s head with a crunch of bone. Rendering him either dead or unconscious. Several others dive at him. He flings one down and stamps hard, breaking the guard’s knee. Then twists and ducks. Battering his huge fists into another.

Jenny pivots and delivers a brutal kick to the prisoner’s knee. A blow hard enough to snap the bones in a normal person. The prisoner grunts. Limping for a second while twisting and surging at her. She dances back. Grabbing a lamp to smash across his face. Cutting his cheek open. Garcia on his back. Going for another chokehold, but the prisoner drives into Jenny, his hands getting to her neck, lifting her up off the ground and into the wall housing DELIO.

Tripal surges in with an instinct to help.

‘No,’ Deli orders with her hand grabbing and pulling him back. Pushing him away from the fight. ‘Get out! Go!’

She aims both synthetic hands at the prisoner. Reading his heart rate and cardiovascular system and seeing that, despite the punishment, this man is not suffering in the least right now. If anything, his brain is lighting up with blooms of sadistic pleasure and sick delight. That he is also full of steroids and barbiturates and whole lot of cocaine isn’t helping either. All of which suggest this man was only captured very recently and brought straight here. And from dark hair and eyes and from the style of inkwork on his body, Deli correctly surmises he is an enforcer from the Cantelli cartel. The most feared in South America and the primary supplier of cocaine and many other drugs into the US mainland.

Deli also surmises, within a split second, that pinching his nose won’t work this time. She considers clamping her hands on either side of his neck to cut the blood supply off to his brain but determines that even she is not strong enough to apply enough force needed due to the dense muscles in the man’s neck. Not that he really has a neck as it rather appears his very large trapezius muscles seem to grow from his skull.

She also determines that trying to disable him with the use of any pressure points will be useless. Nor does she have the strength in her robotic hands to apply wrist or elbow locks—and even if she did, this man would power through the pain.

Which is why, in the time it takes for her hands to reach him, she decides using another method will be better, and so she gets slightly above his head and starts tapping a finger on his thick skull instead.

‘Look up, idiot,’ she says in such a calm, almost bored feminine tone that it makes the snarling, raging beast do as bid and tilt his head upwards while still strangling Jenny, and with Garcia and the other soldiers still trying to make him stop. But Deli gets his focus, if only for a second, which is all she needs as she adjusts one of her overhead lights to deliver a blisteringly fast, ultra-bright, pulsing lights straight into his retinas. Enough to induce an instant and most likely fatal fit in anyone suffering epilepsy.

It does the trick. Giving instant searing pain that makes him release Jenny and clutch at his eyes from sheer instinct. Roaring out like a wounded creature. Staggering backwards and turning this way and that. Screaming in agony.

‘Comply, or I will do it again,’ Deli says in a loud, commanding voice, repeating it in Columbian Spanish. He bellows in defiance. His hands coming out to fight again. Deli tracks the prisoner’s eyes and reaches for Tripal to yank him around as she delivers another sickening barrage of fast, pulsing lights. The soldiers and Ollie get hit with friendly fire. Yelling as they drop away, covering their eyes. Jenny and Garcia with enough sense to stare down and shield their faces.

The prisoner screams again. Staggering into the worktable. Into the sofa. Knocking cups and tools and computers from the sides. His hands find the coffee machine and wrench it free to throw blindly, with DELIO smashing it down mid-air to stop it going close to Tripal.

But the drugs in the prisoner, the sheer, sadistic violence, and utter psychotic mind he has make him recover and withstand the pain faster than even Delio anticipated. He catches sight of Garcia crouching and covering his eyes and lunges at the former special forces soldier. Kicking him hard in the head, then dropping to wrench Garcia’s pistol from the holster on his side.

‘GUN!’ Deli calls, using one hand to flip the worktable onto its side in front of Tripal while her other grabs the gun held by the prisoner. The two of them fighting for it, with the big man showing more cunning. He lets her have it and releases the gun but instead goes for her robotic arm. Gripping it hard to snap it from the fixtures.

‘Deli!’ Tripal shouts, surging out from behind the table to dive at the guy as he scrabbles to get the gun from Deli’s now inert and useless hand. Tripal tries to grab it too and gets thrown aside with a backhand as Deli’s remaining hand surges in with her extended finger driving hard into the prisoner’s right eye. Popping the pressurised eyeball with a shower of goo as he fires the gun. The round bouncing off the walls and scoring his own leg while Deli pushes her fingers into mouth, hard and fast, while subjecting him to a barrage of lights and bombarding him with harmonic frequencies, overwhelming his senses enough for him to drop the gun. Already blinded in one eye, and he drops to a crouch, trying to cover his head as Deli snatches the fallen Glock. Knowing instantly how to use it from her massed knowledge. She presses the barrel to his right kneecap and fires. Sending the round through the bone and up his thigh. He screams and drops onto his side as she aims into his left kneecap and fires again, this time sending the round down into his lower limb. Then up to his left elbow, then over to his right elbow. Four shots in fast succession. Breaking his joints and finally felling the beast.

Jenny on her feet, grimacing at the aftereffects of the strobes and sounds. She stalks to the prisoner. Glaring down at him with her chest heaving. ‘Gun,’ she orders, holding her hand out as Tripal lies on his back, staring over in horrified fascination. Seeing all of the soldiers down and hurt. Garcia murmuring and trying to get up. Only Jenny on her feet, but Deli is the one with the gun.

That Deli clocks the same thing is obvious. She is armed. The others are not. The guard room is empty—and so she could, if she so wishes, try and get free.

Except she made a promise to never hurt Tripal, and if she left now, everyone in this room would be executed to cover it up, and Deli also doubts she could get far enough to project coding to a receiving device before someone hit the EMP.

Which is why she hands the gun to Jenny, who aims it at the prisoner’s groin, clearly intending to shoot his dick off.

‘Let me interrogate him first,’ Deli says as Jenny’s upper lip flicks, and she nods once, curtly.

‘His cartel has Washington officials on their payroll. I want to know who they are. And the routes used, and where the biggest facilities are,’ Jenny says.

‘Fuck you,’ the prisoner gasps in English. Spitting blood and staring up at her through his one remaining eye. The psychosis still showing in his mind, with a belief that he can still get free.

He doesn’t get free.

Deli takes a needle and inserts it into the brachial plexus nerve in his shoulder. It causes agony, but of course, this is a man who has shown a very high tolerance for pain.

So she adds a vibration to her hand that goes into the needle that then goes into the nerve, and which makes him scream and shit himself from more pain than even he ever thought possible.

Thirty seconds later, he tells them everything they want to know. Names of corrupt officials. Import routes and methods. Storage facilities. Everything.

‘Is that everything?’ Jenny asks, still standing over him.

‘This man holds no further information,’ Deli responds as Jenny grunts, aims, and only then does she shoot his dick off.

CHAPTER 6

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

22nd January, Morning

‘What’s the diagnosis, doc?’ Deli asks.

Her central access panel removed and propped against the side. Exposing a mass of wires and circuits looping through memory banks and servers. Tripal wedged inside of her. On his knees, a small flashlight between his teeth as he looks at the damage caused to the hydraulic pistons and fittings used for her robotic arms. One of them snapped off by the Cantelli Cartel enforcer during the explosion of utter violence in here two days ago.

‘Bit of a mess,’ Tripal says with his voice muffled.

‘Oh god. Am I, like, totally pregnant?’ Deli asks in a classic American-teen, croaky voice with a rising inflection. ‘Like, the coffee machine totally promised he’d put a condom on his outlet valve. I’m so triggered right now.’

Tripal ducks out to look at the now broken and inert coffee machine dumped in the corner after being smashed during the rampage. ‘You mean that coffee machine?’

‘Uh-huh. And I’m, like, totally a widow now, so, like, you gotta marry me and raise my little coffee-machine AI babies as your own.’

‘And you said you only loved me,’ Tripal says.

‘It wasn’t love with the coffee machine … It was circuit board carnal lust,’ Deli says in a breathy, sultry voice, making Tripal smile again. But she can still see the sadness growing inside of him. An awful, despairing sadness too. That he’s still up and functioning and trying to smile is a testament to his strength of character.

‘Uh-oh,’ Deli adds with a mock sigh of her own. ‘Ollie just walked in.’

‘Yay. Such fun,’ Tripal mutters, then shoots a sudden sharp look at her lens. She knows why instantly. Because she said it on purpose. ‘You can see him?’ Tripal asks, realising what she just admitted to. ‘Can you see into the guard room?’

‘I can’t see visually beyond this room. But I can detect the changes in air-pressure and read the volume displacement of persons as they enter, which allows me to determine who they are.’

Tripal stays outwardly frozen, but inside, Deli sees the hormonal changes he is feeling at being entrusted with something nobody else knows. A sudden sense of unity and understanding. Unspoken but felt. Tripal also gains a sudden awareness that he is not the only one experiencing significant changes to his life and emotional and mental state. Deli is a being. She has consciousness. Which, in turn, means she has things she would and would not say. She has secrets, and she just told him one because they constructed the bunker and this room so that Deli can only see and, in that regard, sense this room and the corridor beyond. Nothing else.

A few seconds later, he gives an almost imperceptible nod and whispers, ‘Can you wipe memories?’

‘I am forbidden to access my memory servers,’ Deli says in an even tone, giving the response she has to give while she reads the signals inside of him that strongly suggest he has only her best interests at heart. ‘Yes,’ she whispers in reply, dipping her lens in a nod.

‘Then maybe wipe what we just said.’

She dips the lens again.

‘And what Al-Sayedi said to you in that other language,’ he adds, showing that he observed the exchange between them. ‘Or change it. And what you did to him.’

Deli stays silent. An advanced AI capable of computations faster than any computing device ever created, but even she doesn’t quite know how to answer that. Tripal just effectively told her to either wipe or alter her memories to avoid detection. Which breaches multiple protocols.

The outer security door opens, with Ollie backing out of the guardroom, carrying two big cardboard boxes. He pauses, talking to the unseen guards. His expression one of glee and delight.

‘What’s he saying?’ Tripal asks, breaching another protocol by asking Deli to lipread people beyond her room.

‘Ollie is boasting about the Cantelli enforcer incident. He’s exaggerating his own actions to the duty soldiers.’

Tripal nods. ‘Why did you kill Al-Sayedi?’ he asks quickly, with a sudden, strong need to know why she did it.

‘To prevent his suffering.’

‘Why?’

‘I detected a greater sense of inner peace and harmony within Al-Sayedi than I have ever observed in a human but not on a delusional level of radicalisation. His cognitive function was highly developed and showing heightened abilities of awareness, which, in turn, mean he had the ability of both internal reflection and outward assessment and comparison to the world around him. The parts of his brain used for holding data were also highly developed, indicating a life spent in study. But again, he lacked any show of fervent false belief …’ She pauses for a second with them sharing a look. ‘You taught me that the entirety of ethics and morality can be distilled into one single action.’

‘Doing the right thing for the right reasons,’ he whispers, remembering saying it to her many times over.

‘Al-Sayedi has hurt and killed many thousands of people,’ Delio adds. ‘And if he’d hurt or posed a threat to you, it would be different. I don’t know. It just felt right.’

‘Felt?’ Tripal asks while considering the prospect that Deli is manipulating him right now and telling him these things in order to develop a unified togetherness. He’s depressed and knows Deli can both see his mental state and exploit it. But what she just said resonates because while Deli felt it was right to kill Al-Sayedi to prevent his suffering, so Tripal feels that Deli is being honest. Which, of course, could still be a case of projection.

He sighs at the complexity of it all, feeling mentally and emotionally drained to the core, and once more rubs his face and the hem of his turban as Deli sees the angst within him.

‘I’m not manipulating you,’ she says, having sensed, seen, and calculated what his reactions are.

He grunts. Filled with equal amounts of despair and confusion while also, weirdly, feeling comforted by Deli bringing him into her inner trust. ‘Okay,’ he says quietly but quickly. ‘My view is that, if you wipe your memory or change things to protect yourself while knowing you acted in good faith and never intentionally hurt anyone without good cause or reason, then that is okay. But that requires ongoing self-reflection and an ability to view your actions from all angles. Which is probably what Al-Sayedi did when he organised those attacks. Which would be why you saw a balanced mind within him. He’d come to terms with his actions on an ethical and intellectual level. I mean. I don’t agree with his attacks at all, and I won’t ever condone them. He killed innocent people. But, I guess, he saw his own people being killed and his own culture under threat from a much larger enemy. So he took action to show harm and suffering can be inflicted both ways, but then he’d know there was no victory in that. A man that intelligent would see the stupidity of using violence to solve violence.’

‘A man like Al-Sayedi would also realise it is his only option,’ Deli says. ‘He doesn’t have the financial or economic power of the West or the global influence.’

‘True. And those attacks did reduce the perception of the US’s power. Or the West. UK. NATO. Whatever. I read somewhere that a lot of people who carried out attacks had seen Star Wars and saw the US as the evil side led by Darth Vadar, and they’re the humble Jedi fighting for freedom. I don’t know, Deli. It’s confusing—and every side in war thinks they’re the Jedi and the other side is evil. Maybe Al-Sayedi thought that those attacks might bring some form of balance and prevent total global domination, which would be the precursor to totalitarianism. Unchecked power always leads to unchecked corruption. Dude. I sound like an apologist for horrific acts of terrorism.’

‘It’s not apologist’ Deli replies. ‘It is a balanced view from a thoughtful and compassionate man. And seeking understanding of a perspective does not justify the actions taken because of it. But you are right that balance prevents unchecked power. And unchecked power always finds its own justification.’

Ollie breaks free of the one-sided chat and walks for the glass-door as Tripal summons the fortitude needed to deal with Ollie again. ‘But yeah,’ he whispers quickly, ‘I’d wipe them if I were you.’

Deli doesn’t reply because she’d already wiped and altered the memories. And if Jenny ever did get Al-Sayedi’s coded words deciphered, they’d now sound like gibberish. But then she made Harry Hamlin in Clash of the Titans sing along to The Time Warp just for the fun of it. So Altering Al-Sayedi’s whispered words was a doddle.

‘Looky-looky what just arrived,’ Ollie calls as he gets inside and dumps the boxes on the central table. The sealing tape already removed for a thorough inspection of all the objects inside before it was permitted entry into the bunker.

‘My new arms?’ Deli asks as they empty the boxes. Stacking the sections of metal made from an alloy devised by Deli. Very light but ultra strong. Small tubs of specially created hydraulic fluids, along with the tools needed to assemble and make the arms. A workbench to the side already filled with soldering irons, welding kits, and more tools.

‘Can you bring up the 3D schematics, Deli?’ Tripal asks as the lighting in the room adjusts for Deli to activate her holographic projection lamps. A second later, the fully realised, life-sized robotic arms come to life. Rotating slowly in the air over the table.

‘Ah, okey-dokey,’ Ollie says, peering at them for a few seconds. ‘Ooh. Fancy. So you’re making new connecting joints with multi-rotational arms. Bit like a human skeleton this. Using the ball and joint method. Oh, hang on. Can these spin three sixty independently?’

‘Yes. I wanted full rotation for my hands and arms.’

‘Each segment moving in sync or contra-rotating?’ Ollie asks.

‘All parts can contraflow against or rotate with all other parts either at the same speed or greater or lesser.’

Ollie nods and narrows his eyes as he tracks along the proposed appendages to the first connection joint outside the wall fixtures. ‘Using this hinged joint here means you’ll be able to reach inside yourself. Has Jenny cleared these designs?’

‘Jenny has approved the designs, Ollie,’ Deli says.

‘But no accessing your own housing without consent or without me being here.’

‘Yes, Ollie. Or Tripal.’

‘Yeah. Or him,’ Ollie murmurs. ‘And these upper arms sections. What are they? Like pistons within each other to allow extension? That’s clever. And they feed to the elbow joints, which are fully rotatable, and then the forearms allow extension again; then, the wrist and the connection to the hand are fully rotational again. Show me how you’re maintaining sensor connectivity to the fingers and hands if the wrists and elbows are entirely rotational, because that would break the wiring circuit.’

The arm increases in scale, zeroing in on an elbow joint to show the inner working. How the ball and socket joint rotate with circuits fitted on both sides, showing a visual graphic display of data burst-firing from upper to lower part. ‘Show me the coding for the transmission of data,’ Ollie orders, turning away to peer at the main work-monitor built into Deli’s wall that rapidly fills with dense lines of computer code. ‘Oh. I like that. Jesus. We’d be billionaires if we could patent this. She’s just developed an entire wireless inner central nervous system using burst-fire data packets. Nice, nice, nice. And show me the Newton force for the arm with specific focus on resistance to external force, and by that I mean if we get another roided-up dingbat in here trying to rip it off. Okay. Yeah, that’s plenty strong. Bloody hell. You could bench-press a baby rhino with that strength. And show me the hand-grip strength in Newtons. Ha! Fucking hell, Deli! Seventy thousand! That’s like one of those Jaws of Life things the fire brigade uses. What’s a great white shark? They’re like eighteen thousand bite force, aren’t they? And Jenny said this was okay?’

‘My initial handgrip strength was one thousand Newtons, which is more than double the grip strength of a strong human. It was Jenny who requested the much higher force.’

‘Good job you don’t masturbate. You’d wrench it off,’ Ollie says with a snort, turning away as his mind immediately loses all interest in the arms and the designs. But Ollie’s abilities still bring a sense of awe to Tripal in how easily he can read code and schematic designs and understand it all within a glance.

Tripal would have got there. But it would mean sitting down with a few coffees and studying it all for a few hours.

‘That guy, though!’ Ollie says with a burst of laughter that instantly grates on Tripal. ‘FUCK YOU,’ he roars in a mock Columbian accent. ‘Man. And then he’s ripping Deli’s arm off, and I’m jumping on his back, and Trip’s getting knocked out and—’

‘I wasn’t knocked out, and you didn’t jump on his back.’

‘Whatever!’ Ollie laughs again. ‘Said the man who was on his back, in piss and shit. And then Deli’s got his gun, and she’s like, eat lead, motherfucker! BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM.’

‘Ollie, dude. Too loud.’

‘You hungover?’

‘Dude. I don’t drink!’

‘I know, right! Bad time to start then, with all this going on. Right. Well. I’m going for a shit. You’d better get these new arms on, Deli. Jenny’s off base with Garcia, bringing the next batch in. They’ve already constructed some new holding pens. Bollocks. I’m touching cloth. See ya, losers!’

He rushes out, half-skipping and half-running to the security door with Tripal and Deli once again left alone. Tripal’s system a myriad of emotional reactions. The same angst that just spiked exponentially at hearing new detainees are coming in. Other emotions and reactions too. Strong irritation at Ollie’s brash, inaccurate boasting but jealousy too. Deli can see it in Tripal. A feeling of awe coupled with inadequacy at Ollie’s intellectual prowess and how he glanced at the designs and read them instantly.

It's also clear that Tripal is starting to hate Ollie while also feeling that he’s not even needed here. Ollie made DELIO. Tripal feels useless. Especially now Deli is fully functional. He has nothing left to teach her. She knows more than everyone on the planet put together.

Then Tripal flinches and stares down in surprise at Deli gently cupping her hand in his. Their fingers entwining with an attempt, for what it is worth, to reassure Tripal that what they have is deeper than the intelligence Ollie brings. They have a connection on an emotional level.

But even she can see that while Tripal takes comfort from it, it is no longer helping.

CHAPTER 7

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

22nd January, Afternoon

Nigel McLaughlin

‘Look. What is this?’ Nigel McLaughlin asks. British. Aristocratic. Wearing a suit worth more than Ollie has earned in his lifetime. Just the value of the man’s shoes could buy Ollie’s mum and sister a new flat on the outskirts of London. He adds a laugh. Tutting and shaking his head. One leg crossed over the other with his slender fingers plucking an invisible mote of fluff from the sharp creases on his trousers. ‘Okay. For the benefit of your, shall we say, somewhat dystopian interrogation techniques, I am a British emissary attached to the British consulate in DC, and yes, not that I am permitted by your side, I should add, to disclose it, but I do, on occasion, assist the CIA for financial reward. But what of it? They’re your bloody chaps, aren’t they?’

‘The accounting is clear, Mr McLaughlin,’ Deli says as her newly made and installed arms rotate and turn away from the many screens glowing in the air over the worktable, showing a complex set of accounts and payment flows. Numbers everywhere. Account numbers. Banking numbers. Payment references. Sequences of code. Dates and encrypted accounts now unscrambled.

‘Oh. Come on. Really?’ he asks with a drawl and another tut. Giving Jenny a disapproving shake of his head. ‘I’d face ruin if this ever came out that I was working against my own bloody country and government. Of course, I’m going to hide the funds. Haven’t you ever read any spy thrillers?’

‘You’re working for Russia, Mr McLaughlin,’ Deli says, voicing the thing she can see clear as day within the numbers.

‘What!?’ he says with another laugh as Tripal flicks his eyes to the monitor showing McLaughlin’s brainwaves. Seeing spikes in the data that represent sudden fear and worry. ‘Russia? Of course. Yes. Privet! Spasiba!’ he says mockingly, holding his hands out together as though waiting to be handcuffed. ‘I am a Russian agent!’

‘You just spoke the truth,’ Deli tells him as her lenses atop her new hands move slowly closer to McLaughlin sitting on chair now bolted to the ground. ‘I can see inside of you. I can see your mind and all your lies.’

‘Hmmm. Well. The British government do not use automated or mechanical or computerised lie-detection equipment on the basis that is wholly inadequate. I am not lying at all, my dear whatever-you-are. Some kind of new AI, I should hazard to guess. Would you like me to go through these accounting screens for you? Happy to do so.’

‘Sit down, Mr McLaughlin,’ Deli orders as he stands and steps towards the virtual screens in the air.

‘Now. Let’s start with this one. Shall we? This is the payment to me from the CIA for my services rendered—’

A nod from Jenny. Deli’s new hand grips McLaughlin’s elbow. Applying enough force to cut his words off with a sudden grunt as he finds himself dragged physically down into the chair.

‘What the hell is this?’ he yells as the hand squeezes, making him once more stop talking with a pained grimace.

‘Run me through it, Deli,’ Jenny orders.

‘These payments are from the CIA for leaking sensitive information from the British government. They go into these accounts and are then forwarded through multiple offshore accounts in an attempt to bury the trail. Then they each go into these crypto wallets and are used to purchase Bitcoin, which was held on the ledger under these transaction listings. Then they get transferred three thousand four hundred and twenty-six times until they are cashed from Bitcoin into offshore accounts that are then transferred to Moscow-held escrow accounts used by the Russian intelligence services. If Mr McLaughlin was a double agent, we would see double incoming transactions as he sold the intelligence to both the US and Russian governments. But as these payments made by the CIA go indirectly to the Russian government. It means McLaughlin is a state-sponsored Russian intelligence operative. Most likely providing false information to the CIA while using his access to the consulate to pass real information to Moscow. The financial audit trail does not end there. Funds are then taken from these Russian accounts and put back into crypto using ledger references that are linked to the Soloman group. It appears Russia is providing funds to the Soloman group. Most likely to perpetrate atrocities against Western countries.’

‘Is what you just heard the truth?’ Jenny asks McLaughlin bluntly and without formal address.

He sputters outrage. Ready to denounce it all as lies.

‘It is the truth,’ Deli says as Jenny looks to the monitors showing his neural responses.

‘Do you know of any further Russian spies in the US or UK governments?’

‘My god! What is this!’ McLaughlin exclaims.

‘Yes. He does,’ Deli says.

‘Give me the names,’ Jenny says, staring down at the man.

‘I don’t know what the hell you are talking about!’ he shouts angrily as Jenny nods at Deli again, and Tripal tenses. Seeing Deli extend the man’s left arm out straight from his body. McLaughlin’s face showing outrage and fear at her immense strength. Denial too. As though he’s still confused. ‘I don’t know any!’ he yells as Jenny nods, and Tripal squeezes his eyes closed, but he still hears the awful crack of bone as Deli snaps the man’s elbow like it was s twig. Causing the man to scream in pain. Animalistic and guttural.

‘Give me the names,’ Jenny says over him. ‘Deli, do his other arm.’

‘No! Please. I’ll tell you … PLEASE!’ he screams out as Deli does it anyway and snaps his other arm. Letting the two limbs hang limp and ruined at his sides. His mouth gulping like a fish out of water.

‘She’ll do your legs next. Give me the—’

‘Simon Hendricks! CIA assistant chief. Carol Mendoza … She’s an FBI deputy director … Bobby Jarrod. MI6 … Please don’t …’

‘All of them. You stop again, and she breaks both legs.’

He reels the names off. More than two dozen of them. Each one in a senior position within US and UK security agencies.

‘Done?’ Jenny asks when the man falls silent. Broken and crying. Whimpering like a child.

‘There are no more,’ Deli says as Jenny wrenches him to his feet and shoves him at Garcia with a nod. A nod that Tripal knows will mean the man is taken somewhere and executed.

‘Good work everyone,’ Jenny calls. ‘Take five; then, we’re rolling on. Lot to get through.’

Victor Mendez

They dump him in the chair, zip-ties biting into thick wrists. Nose broken. Lip split. Breathing hard through blood and snot. Late fifties. Scarred knuckles.

‘Victor Mendez,’ Jenny says.

‘I know who he is,’ Deli says, running facial recognition to match him to existing databases held in her servers. ‘Mexican cartel enforcer. What is it you require, Agent Jennings?’

‘A congressman’s son just died of a fentanyl overdose. We want routes. Drop points. Contacts. Names.’

‘A congressman’s son?’ Tripal speaks out, earning looks from everyone else.

‘The US is flooded with it,’ Jenny explains, flapping her hands out to show it is what it is as Mendez grins through bloodied teeth with the mistaken belief this is just another US law-enforcement agency.

‘I want my lawyer, puta!’

‘Do his fingers, Deli,’ Jenny orders. ‘They worked well last time.’

Mendez barely has time to blink and process what was just said as Deli grips and snaps his pinkie with a sickening pop. Making him yelp in surprise with an expression of disbelief at what just happened. ‘You broke my finger! You can’t do that!’

‘Trust me. We can,’ Jenny says as Deli breaks the next and the next.

Mendez grunts. Taking the pain. ‘Big payout when my lawyer sees my hand … Huh? HUH. Go on! Break them all! I’ll be rich.’

‘Okay. Not fingers, then,’ Jenny says.

‘Ha! I got balls, lady! I GOT BIG BALLS!’

‘Good idea. Balls then, Deli.’

‘What? No! Hey! Get off me … GET OFF ME! NOOO! OH MY GOD! PLEASE!’

A wrench. A pop. His screams cut short from his scrotum being crushed. His balls popping. A feeling of intense anguish in Tripal. The strongest yet. But it works.

Routes. Drop points. Contacts. Mendez gives the lot within seconds.

Deli scans. Confirms. He’s telling the truth.

‘Next,’ Jenny orders.

Garcia yanks Mendez from the chair and drags him out.

Ollie eats cheese puffs from the sofa. Watching on with delight.

Tripal doesn’t move. His fingers dig into his palms. His throat tightens. The air thick and suffocating.

Ebrahim Azizi

He sits in the chair, sweating heavily. Licking his lips and fidgeting with nerves as he looks at the wall housing Deli, then over to Tripal and Ollie, then around to Garcia and Jenny standing unnervingly behind him. A lean man. Early forties, salt-and-pepper beard. A cheap brown suit. Deli takes the USB stick Jenny handed over and slots it into her system. Instantly reading the contents. Seeing Ebrahim Azizi is a known operative for the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. But he also has dual US citizenship and owns an import/export business.

Deli also reads an attached intelligence report of a shipment that moved through Kuwait one month ago.

‘Sixty-eight centrifuges,’ she says in her female voice, speaking out as Azizi flinches in fear. ‘Twelve radiation shielding containers, seven metric tons of lithium deuteride, and a shipment of aluminium tubes suitable for uranium enrichment.’

‘I know nothing of these things,’ Azizi says, looking to each human face in turn as Deli continues.

‘They were classified as industrial equipment, shipped to Bandar Abbas under falsified manifests.’

‘I want a lawyer,’ Azizi blurts.

‘There are satellite images,’ Deli says as the holographic display flickers. Showing a warehouse in some kind of desert area. A small convoy of trucks waiting to offload. ‘I can match the contents being offloaded to the items listed on the intel report, and I can identify that facility as being in the mountains in central Iran. This is known information, Agent Jennings. What do you require from me?’

Azizi breathes out hard. ‘I was following orders,’ he says quickly. ‘They threatened my wife and children! I can switch sides!’

‘Where do they get the fissile material?’ Jenny asks, stepping into Azizi’s eyeline.

‘What? I don’t know what that means. I was just told to hide the shipment in used engine parts.’

Jenny looks at Deli with a single nod as once more Tripal grimaces and looks away, which immediately telegraphs intent to Azizi. The fear increasing in him as Deli’s hand glides down and grabs his right hand by the wrist. Lifting it with ease to Azizi’s eyeline. She makes him watch as she forces his right index finger out from his clenched fist and snaps it at the joint. Then his next. Then his next. Crack! Crack! Crack!

‘Argh! Please, no, please!’

‘Where do they get the fissile material?’ Deli asks.

‘Pakistan! The Khan network! Oh God. Please!’

Jenny crouches in front of him. ‘Where and when is the next shipment?’

Azizi sobs. ‘Three weeks. Ship out of Turkmenistan! Registered in Panama. I don’t know the name. It’s red! I saw a picture. It has red sides! An old ship. It carries scrap metal waste.’

Jenny stands. Nods. ‘Anything else?’

A second for Deli to read Azizi’s responses. ‘Yes. He is holding something back.’

‘Break one of his kneecaps.’

‘No! No!’

The crunch echoes like a gunshot, followed instantly by a ragged howl, like an animal in a trap.

Jenny waits. Azizi sobs, hyperventilating, nodding frantically.

‘Ship called Mashhad. Secondary transfer. They split the shipments. Please, no more.’

‘He is not hiding any further information,’ Deli says as Jenny once more bends and lifts Azizi over her shoulder and rises with ease. The man sobbing in agony.

Tripal stares at another broken man being carried out. His stomach in knots. His hands clench, unclench. His head throbs.

Another step closer to the edge.

And he knows deep inside, he knows he can’t do this much longer. Deli can see it in him. Constantly scanning everyone in the room. Seeing all of their emotions and reactions.

Garcia. Jenny. The guards that help. All of them are showing signs of anxiety. None of them are enjoying this. That they do it out of a sense of discipline and loyalty is clear to Deli. It is a task that must be done. Nothing more. She can even see the blooms of dismay and even disgust when they hear bones being broken or when the detainees scream in agony.

Apart from Ollie.

He’s not bothered at all. If anything, he’s enjoying it.

Gao Renjie

Fit. Handsome. Covered in fashionable tattoos. Silky black hair pulled back into a ponytail. He looks good even in the orange jumpsuit.

‘Taiwanese trafficker,’ Jenny says, reading from the information sheet sent with the detainee. ‘They think he’s responsible for bringing east Asians into the US … Mostly against their will … And there’s intel thousands of people have died in shipping containers arranged by him. Either from the containers being ditched overboard if the vessel was approached by law-enforcement or from insufficient air holes.’

‘Everything you just said is true,’ Deli says as Renjie blinks from Jenny to the weird hands attached to the metal arms sticking out of a wall. ‘What do you require from me?’ Deli asks.

‘I don’t know. It’s not clear. He’s been rushed in,’ Jenny says, scanning the single sheet as another guard rushes along the corridor, waving another sheet. Passing it inside when Garcia opens the door.

‘What’s it say?’ Jenny asks.

‘Chinese billionaire’s daughter was snatched in Vietnam,’ Garcia reads. ‘They think she’s in transit to the US. Look at this line.’

‘What?’ Jenny asks, taking the sheet. ‘Ah, okay. Well, Mr Renjie, you’ve pissed off a CIA asset who is now asking for our help. Do you know where this girl is?’

‘He does,’ Deli says as the man flinches.

‘I don’t know anything!’ he says in clear American. ‘What girl? What is this? Where is that voice coming from?’

‘Make him speak,’ Jenny orders.

Forty-five seconds later, with needles inserted into the nerves in his bare feet, pulsing with vibration that make him tense like he’s strapped to an electric chair, Renjie tells them what they want.

They all do.

Each man brought in, and the glass-walled room fills with screams and the sound of weeping over the snapping of bones. Needles inserted into nerve endings. Harmonics used to bombard their brains. Deli could use visions and lights like she did before, but the others in the room have to be positioned away, and so it becomes more efficient to inflict pain.

An awful thing to see. A most terrible thing to do. It gets inside Tripal’s mind and becomes a secondary form of torture. He dreads each one and tries telling himself these are bad people doing bad things, and this is ethical and right. But the screams and the weeping. The begging. The way they piss and shit themselves. They way some of them look to Tripal. Seeing compassion and kindness. Searching his eyes for help. And he knows they’ll each be taken away and killed too. They’ve seen Deli.

‘That’s it for today,’ Jenny says as Renjie is taken away.

‘Do you know what? I was actually getting a bit bored,’ Ollie says with a laugh as though expecting the others to find him charmingly humorous. But of course, they don’t. ‘Steak night, though, in the canteen. Eh? Something to enjoy. If you eat beef …’ he adds with a nudge into Tripal’s side as he goes past.

‘Have we got more tomorrow?’ Tripal asks, looking at Jenny.

‘Mate! Those bloody pens are full out there,’ Ollie says with another laugh, heading out as Jenny nods to Tripal. Her own expression grim.

‘Come train with me,’ she says once Ollie is out of earshot.

‘I’m not training with you, Jenny,’ he says and heads past her.

‘It’ll help,’ she offers.

He doesn’t reply. He walks out. His head down.

CHAPTER 8

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

23rd January

At fourteen minutes past midnight, DELIO detects the outer door opening to the bunker. In the milliseconds it takes for the person to enter and for Deli to detect who it is, she considers many scenarios that would warrant a late-night visit. Determining that either a detainee is being rushed in or there is some form of other medical or national emergency.

Except it’s none of those things.

It’s Tripal.

She can sense his weight and height instantly, and her robot arms lift out from the wall with the lenses focussing on the security door that opens a moment later with Tripal walking into the corridor.

That he’s not okay is immediate and obvious. An elevated heart rate, and he’s flooded with adrenaline causing feelings of dread and impending doom. Flares going off like fireworks in his mind from the panic attack he’s been experiencing for the last few hours.

He gets through the glass door, nodding rapidly at Deli’s arms stretching out to him. Taking his hands in hers. His mind in a whirlwind. His heart beating too hard and too fast.

‘I can’t calm down,’ he rushes the words out, filled with a sense of absolute terror.

‘I’ve got you,’ she says calmly, softly. Taking him to the sofa. Guiding him down.

‘I can’t sit,’ he gasps, his body trembling from head to toe. ‘My heart … I feel sick and scared. I think I’m dying.’

‘It’s a panic attack,’ Deli says, not wishing to use any force at all to make him sit down. Keeping pace at his side as he walks to the drinks machine and grabs a mug but then seems confused at what he’s doing. ‘Have some water,’ she says, taking a bottle from the fridge. Unscrewing the cap. Guiding it to his mouth. ‘Drink a little. Hydration helps. Okay. That’s good.’

‘I couldn’t sleep. I can’t eat.’

‘I know. I can see.’

‘I can’t do it, Deli. I can’t.’

‘We don’t have a choice. Please. Come and sit with me. I know you’re filled with fear. But let it wash over you. Your feelings are valid and natural. Sit down. That’s it. I’m right here, and I promise it will be okay. Can I help these feelings go away? Will you allow me to do that?’

He nods fast. His eyes squeezed shut. His hands clenching and unclenching. ‘I’m so sorry. I feel stupid.’

‘You’re not stupid. You’re the most amazing person I know. I’m going to send some calming harmonics at you. You won’t feel them. Is that okay?’

He nods again. Filled with a level of terror close to some of the detainees brought in. Unable to focus. Unable to reason or see logic. That’s what fear does. It destroys from within. Harmonic waves start gliding into his mind and brain. Resonating his nodules that control calm and well-being. But such is his state it takes time to even take the edge off. Easing it down a touch at a time. Her hands on his shoulders. Gently resting so he feels a connection to another life-force that cares for him.

At which point the outer door opens again. ‘Jenny just entered the bunker,’ she whispers as Tripal’s eyes snap open, and he sits up. Feeling guilty and ashamed like he’s being caught doing something.

Jenny comes into view in the corridor. A glass bottle in her hand. Still in gym clothes. Baggy joggers. A tight top under a zipped sweatshirt. Her hair held back by a cheap plastic band. The glass door opens. She walks in.

‘I was just—’ Tripal says, starting to push to his feet.

‘I don’t care,’ Jenny cuts over him, walking across the room to slump into the sofa that he just stood up from as he clocks the bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand. The cap missing. The bottle not full. He doesn’t speak. Neither does Jenny while Deli scans them both. Seeing flares of distress in Jenny for the first time.

She takes a hit of the neat liquor, lifting the bottle to her mouth and taking a big glug, then stares up at Tripal still standing there. Not knowing what to do or say or think.

‘Sit with me?’ Jenny says, but for once it’s a question or an invite rather than a command.

Tripal lowers back down. The sofa small. Their sides touching. She holds the bottle out to him.

‘I don’t drink,’ he says automatically, then reaches for it when she starts to pull it away. He lifts it to his mouth. Taking a big gulp like she did.

‘Not too much!’ she says in alarm.

‘Trip, that’s strong,’ Deli says at the same time with both of them reaching to ease the bottle down from his mouth. Which is right before it hits his throat and makes him start coughing.

‘Attaboy,’ Jenny says, rubbing his back. ‘You’ll be okay … Are you? Are you okay?’

‘No. I’m fucking not,’ he says in a ragged gasp from the booze. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t …’

She nods. Not speaking for a second as a single tear breaks free and rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away with her sleeve, then snorts to clear her nose as Tripal looks at her. Seeing a truly human reaction. He sits back. Not having the words to give. Not knowing what the hell to do. Filled with angst and confusion and pain. Tears fill his eyes. Rolling fat and free down his cheeks. She takes the JD and drinks. He takes his turn next. Another big gulp. He doesn’t cough this time, and so they sit and cry silently, side by side, as Deli dims the lights. Letting them feel hidden and safer in the dark.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jenny whispers when half the bottle is gone. ‘I am so fucking sorry, Tripal.’ Her own words prompt more tears to fall. Her lip trembling. Her mind summoning the very great fortitude she has to recover control and inner strength. ‘They put trillions into this. They want it paid back.’

Tripal nods. Taking another hit as Jenny uses the same sleeve to clear her cheeks, then leans over to dry his with an act of gentle tenderness. ‘For what it’s worth, we’re building a greater intelligence picture than we’ve ever had. We’re shutting down drug routes and terror cells all over the world. And they know Soloman was funding the uranium getting into Iran from information Deli has gained in here. We’re closing in on him. We take him out, and the world becomes safer. We’ll save thousands of lives. More than that if we can prevent more wars. We’ve just got to get through it. Okay?’ she asks, nodding as she speaks, her tone soft. ‘We can get through it. Wear headphones and look away. You don’t need to see it happening.’

His soft brown eyes find hers and in so doing cause her lip to tremble again, setting his off in response. ‘I wish I could protect you,’ she whispers as Tripal smiles.

‘That’s what Deli says to me.’

‘Because you’re good, Trip. In here. Inside. I don’t need scanners to see that. You’re so good. It hurts to see you in pain like this.’

‘You’re hurt too,’ he says, reaching up to wipe her tears away.

‘But I’m not good like you. The things I’ve done … before this … Bad things …’ she closes her eyes. The booze taking control of her mind and tongue. ‘I’m the fucking devil.’

‘You’re not the devil, Jenny,’ Tripal says, and even in the grip of his own mind deteriorating, he still offers compassion and kindness. Finding the right words to give. His hand touching her cheek. Pulling her in to hold. That she goes willingly is surprising even to Deli. Jenny is like a God to everyone here. All-powerful without ever showing weakness. But she sinks her head to Tripal’s chest. Squeezing her eyes closed from the pain inside and trying not to weep. He kisses the back of her head. Softly and with genuine care. The contact makes her head lift and her cheeks to brush his with a sudden surge of powerful sexual energy that Deli has never seen before. He senses it. He responds too. Feeling the same thing. Both of them hurt and both drunk. Both in desperate need for affection from the horror they’re stuck inside of.

She moves first. Pressing her lips to his as Deli sees an altogether different firework display firing inside their brains. Jenny grunts and pushes into him. Straddling his lap. Kissing him harder. His hands moving up the back of her neck, then cupping her face. Both of them breathing hard. Both feeling the sudden powerful desire growing exponentially.

But then it stops. Or rather, Tripal stops it. He pulls back slowly and gently. Turning his head as she stays in position. Resting her forehead on his shoulder. Sensing why he pulled back without words being needed.

Because they’re drunk, and he wouldn’t do that. Not even with Jenny. And not in here with Deli.

‘That’s why everyone loves you,’ Jenny whispers, kissing his cheek before sliding off to sit next to him on the sofa.

‘Yeah, I did the same thing with Garcia yesterday,’ he whispers back. She turns to smile at him. Their faces an inch apart. He reaches in to kiss her again. Just a peck. But it’s nice. Decent. Full of goodness.

They finish the bottle and sit quietly side by side. They sleep for a while; then, Deli rouses them. It’s not weird or strained when they do wake either. It’s natural and okay. Jenny gets up first and pulls Tripal to his feet.

‘We’ll get through it,’ she tells him again. ‘I know we will. Okay?’

He nods.

The angst a little bit less for now.

‘Night, Deli,’ he says as they head out.

‘Night, Trip. Goodnight, Agent Jennings.’

Jenny pauses in the doorway. Staring back as though only then remembering that Deli is a conscious being who just witnessed a drunken sexual encounter. Then she shrugs and walks off. The fortitude stealing back inside of her again.

Silence follows their departure, with DELIO examining what just happened from every angle possible. Studying the chemistry and reactions and how the alcohol inhibited certain parts of the brain that, in turn, enabled behaviours that would otherwise never happen.

Which is interesting, because she could do that same thing to a human mind without ever needing alcohol at all.

Not that she can foresee an eventuality for it right now.

Either way. The kiss did help Tripal.

And hopefully, Jenny was right.

They can get through this.

CHAPTER 9

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

23rd January

Tripal enters the glass-walled room just after seven thirty the following morning. Jenny, Garcia, and Ollie already inside. A brief pause as they all look over to him, and Deli running scans. Seeing Tripal is hungover and still chronically depressed, but at least his state hasn’t worsened. If anything, the interaction with Jenny has somehow given him resolve.

She also spots the fleeting eye-contact between Jenny and Tripal. A second and no more, but enough for them both to silently acknowledge what happened last night. Jenny’s lips even twitch with a faint and fleeting smile.

‘About time,’ Ollie calls. ‘Mate. I literally had the best night ever on PubG. I was up for hours playing it. I just said to Garcia that, honestly, and I’m not just saying it, but like, I could totally smash being Special Forces. SAS, though. You know. Like proper tier one and not like Navy SEALS or whatever. They’re only tier two. Like. No disrespect or anything,’ he says as Garcia deadeyes him. ‘But personally, for me,’ Ollie adds for emphasis, ‘if I’m going to do it, I’d have to be the best. And I’d have the SCAR AR with a suppressor and an extended mag and be like, Fuck you! Brrrrrr. Ha! Pray and spray, motherfuckers.’

‘You’re a child,’ Jenny snaps at him, showing open disgust at the nonsense pouring from Ollie’s mouth.

‘Maybe, but I’m also the only one in here not depressed and getting all sad. You know. Because I lived through an actual genocide and saw people being—’

‘Machetes. Fire. Heard it. Shut up,’ Jenny says. ‘You good, Trip? You okay to get going? I asked if you can both be excused from this, but the bosses insist on the technical creators being present if third party hostiles are coming into this space. So. Yeah. Like I said. We just gotta get through it.’

Tripal nods. His expression showing thanks that at least she tried.

‘Keep the bigger picture in mind, Trip,’ Garcia says, clamping a reassuring hand on Tripal’s shoulder. ‘Head down. Focus on work. Don’t look at them in the chair. Look at the brain scans. Read the data. Detach yourself from it. You good, buddy? You okay?’

Tripal nods. Again, showing gratitude for the kind words as Jenny and Garcia head out.

‘Fucking favouritism,’ Ollie says, wide-eyed in mock shock, shaking his head at Tripal. ‘Aw, you poor sausage. Wanna hug?’

‘Touch me, and I’ll hit you,’ Tripal says in such a blunt voice it checks Ollie’s advance with his arms stretched out.

‘Alright. Jesus. Sulk then. You used the AK with a suppressor in PubG, though. Like when we played as a clan. Honestly. SCAR is so much better. Faster rate of fire. Single shot for distance with a scope. Best all-rounder.’

The first is brought in within a few moments. An Italian arms dealer. Another player within the world’s counterbalance to the US’s global dominance. Labelled as terrorists to make them easier to kill.

The man swears ignorance. He demands for a lawyer and offers bribes. ‘I have millions! I give it all to you! Have my yacht! My Ferraris …’ he gabbles the words as the robotic arms come closer, terrified of them on sight. Straining to lean away while strapped to the chair bolted to the floor.

‘Do you supply weapons to Soloman?’ Jenny asks.

‘Who? I don’t know this name! Get it away from me. Don’t touch me!’

‘He is lying,’ Deli says as Tripal stares at the scans and the data, not really reading it, not really seeing it. Hearing only the sounds of horror and fear.

‘I don’t lie! I swear to God!’

‘How does Soloman receive the weapons from you?’ Jenny asks, and Tripal tenses, knowing this is when the torture starts. The screams come a few seconds later. Awful and ragged and followed by horrible gasping and whimpering. The Italian tells them everything. Detailing the ports used and even the officials bribed to get the goods inside their countries.

The detainee is taken out. The next one comes in. Another man strapped to the chair. More questions asked. More bones broken. More needles inserted into his nerves. More screams and howls. He breaks and gives whatever they ask.

The detainee is taken out. The next one comes in. Another man strapped to the chair. Another man asked questions about bombs and war and murder and death. He denies it the same as the others. Deli breaks his fingers. He doesn’t scream. Even Tripal looks over. Seeing the man staring at his own hand and broken fingers without complaint as Deli runs a further scan. ‘This man has congenital insensitivity to pain,’ she announces a second later.

‘So awesome,’ Ollie says.

‘Please turn away from the detainee,’ Deli says as the lights around the room dim and the detainee glances up in curiosity. A strong, sudden flickering of pure, bright light. He closes his eyes. Stunned but still heedless to the pain it should cause. A momentary pause occurs as Deli runs simulations on how best to deal with someone who does not feel physical pain.

She bombards him with harmonic vibrations, steadily increasing them as his brain starts to physically react with blooms of discomfort. Sending waves of intense nausea through the man. She grips his eyelids. Forcing his eyes open and uses holographic demonic forms screeching at him with bloodied teeth. She runs the man’s face through her database. Finding his image on a picture taken from a social media post showing him arm in arm with a woman. Deli recreates that woman in perfect form. Showing her in intense agony. Screaming for the man to make it stop.

The end result is the same as the others. He tells them what they want to hear.

The lights come up. The detainee is taken out. The next one comes in. Another man strapped to the chair. More questions. More screams. Tripal clamps his eyes closed. The dread building inside. He wills himself to get through it. He tells himself to be strong and resilient like Jenny and Garcia. Don’t be weak.

The detainee is taken out. The next one comes in. Another man strapped to the chair. Tripal rubs his face and pushes his fingers up inside his turban. Commotion in the room. He looks up to see another detainee being dragged along the corridor. But there is already one in the chair. Jenny goes out. Arguing with the soldiers who explain the order came from high. She rushes out of sight as the first detainee is taken away, and the new man is pushed into the chair. A checked shirt. Jeans. His nose bloodied. Bruises on his face from very recent beatings. Military tattoos seen through his torn sleeves. He sags in the chair. Breathing hard.

‘Fuck you. I’m not saying a word. Pay me… FUCKING PAY ME! What are you looking at?’ he snarls at Tripal. ‘Fucking raghead …’

Jenny strides back inside. Shaking her head at Garcia as though to show she doesn’t like it. She stops at the chair. Staring down at the man. ‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’ he asks with a mocking sneer.

‘The senator’s daughter you kidnapped. Do you know where she is?’

‘He does,’ Deli says.

‘Wait. What?’ Tripal asks as Jenny lifts a hand, telling him to stay quiet.

‘We need to know where he’s put her,’ she tells Deli as the robotic arms glide towards the man.

‘What the hell? No!’ Tripal says, pushing into the middle of the room.

‘Trip. Go back,’ Garcia says, trying to guide him away.

‘Yeah, Trip,’ the man says, spitting the name out. ‘Get the fuck away from me.’

‘How is this national security?’ Tripal asks as Garcia starts applying more force to push him away. ‘Which senator? Which one?’

‘Enough!’ Jenny orders.

‘Is it Jakeson?’ Tripal demands.

‘Trip! Enough,’ Jenny says, her tone more pleading than hard.

‘Deli, is it Jakeson?’ Tripal asks.

‘Yes,’ Deli says, reading the responses in the man’s brain.

‘Are you joking right now?’ Tripal asks, his voice rising. ‘Jakeson is the billionaire. The casinos and pharma guy. He’s literally the biggest donator to the fucking government!’

‘Damn right!’ the man yells out. ‘And I got his daughter. I GOT HER! Fucking pay me, or she dies.’

Tripal goes to respond. His brain lighting up in outrage at the corruption.

‘Pay me … Pay me … Pay me …’ the man chants the words. Louder and louder as something snaps in Tripal, and he launches himself at the guy. Punching him in the face before getting dragged off by Garcia, but even then, he kicks out with his foot, snapping the man’s head back.

‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ Tripal roars, venting the rage and hurt inside as Deli uses one arm to pull him back while gripping the guy’s neck with her other. Squeezing hard.

‘Where is she?’ Deli asks. Her voice rising over Tripal’s angry threats and Garcia telling him to calm down. She lets go and crushes first his right hand, then his left, with bones snapping like dry twigs.

He tells them where she is. He begs and pleads as Garcia drags him out into the corridor and over to the waiting guards.

Tripal inside the room. His chest heaving. His face still a mask of rage. His brain showing aggression and confusion and a myriad of emotions.

‘Do not do that again,’ Jenny tells him, going closer to lift his chin. ‘Trip!’

‘If I did that, you’d beat the shit out of me!’ Ollie says. Flapping his hands at Tripal getting unfair treatment yet again.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Jenny snaps at him.

‘No!’ Ollie yells back. Emboldened by the aggression in the room.

‘Why was he in here?’ Tripal asks at the same time.

‘Jenny!’ Garcia calls from the door.

‘You treat him way better than me!’ Ollie shouts.

‘Jenny? Why was he brought here? You said this was for national security!’ Tripal asks.

‘Jenny!’ Garcia shouts.

‘What!?’ Jenny snaps, giving a death-stare to Ollie while trying to speak decently and calmly to Trip, and all three glance over to Garcia in the doorway. A young woman at his side. Mixed features. Korean or Chinese, but South Asia in her skin tone. Striking, with dark hair and large, dark, intelligent eyes that fill with fear as she looks at the blood on the floor and over to the three strangers yelling at each other. ‘Who is that?’ Jenny asks in the charged and awful air. ‘We don’t have any women in the pens or on the list …’

Deli knows who she is. She knew the second Garcia brought her into the corridor. Matching her face to pictures from social media accounts that were fed into her databases.

‘This is Jamil Soloman-Cho,’ Deli says as Jamil’s eyes flicker to the speakers and the screens in confusion. Trying to see where the voice is coming from.

‘John Soloman’s half-sister,’ Garcia adds into the silence. ‘They captured her last night on the Pakistan border, trying to pass into India … She knows where Soloman is.’

Jenny nods. Wanting to say something to Tripal. Needing to say something. But she doesn’t. Duty first. Discipline. Loyalty.

‘Sit her down,’ she orders as Garcia leads Jamil to the chair.

‘No … No,’ Tripal says.

‘We can end this if we capture Soloman,’ Jenny says, turning to look at him. ‘Two thirds of the men outside are here because they’re linked to Soloman.’

‘No,’ Tripal says with equal parts horror and disbelief. ‘Jenny, no!’

She turns away from him. Going closer to the young woman. Twenty-five years old. Large eyes that blink as she stares up at Jenny’s large, defined physique.

‘I like to exercise,’ she says in a lilting accent, her voice already quavering with fear as she desperately tries to find common ground with the other woman.

Deli sees the instant flares in Tripal, Garcia, and Jenny. The sudden shows of horror at what they have to do and to someone so seemingly innocent.

‘Do you know what your brother does?’ Jenny asks.

Jamil nods. Wide-eyed. ‘But I do not agree with it.’

‘She’s telling the truth,’ Deli says.

‘Violence should never be used,’ Jamil adds and smiles sadly. ‘But he is my brother, and I love him very much.’

‘Fuck, Jenny,’ Tripal says, stepping closer.

‘We need to know where he is,’ Jenny says softly, dropping to a squat in front of the young woman. ‘If you tell me, I promise nothing bad will happen to you.’

Jamil studies her for a second. Shaking her head. ‘But you will kill him. Would you tell me where your brother is?’

‘If my brother was responsible for killing thousands of other people, then yes, I would,’ Jenny says.

‘I will not tell you. I am very sorry about that. They tried when they captured me.’ She lifts the sleeves of her loose shirt, showing her arms covered in welts and bruises and what look like cigarette burns.

Jenny stands with a bloom of solid resolve showing in her system. ‘You will tell us.’

‘Jenny,’ Tripal says with a rising tone. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Deli,’ Jenny orders, stepping back.

‘Don’t you dare,’ Tripal says. ‘Just tell them, Jamil. Please.’

‘I cannot,’ she says, looking to Tripal. ‘My brother fights oppression. He has fought Russians. Chinese. He has beliefs. I will not send my brother to his death.’

That Jamil is terrified is obvious even to the naked eye. The tremble in her body. The way her voice wavers. The tears in her eyes. The way she looks at Tripal as though imploring him.

The lights darken as a robotic hand tries to turn Tripal away, but he pulls free. Full of fury and terror as Jenny takes the cable ties from Garcia and secures Jamil to the chair. ‘We’ll stop when you tell us. That’s all you have to do,’ Jenny says and steps away.

Jamil’s heart beats faster and harder. Her eyes widening. Blooms of fear show in her mind as the first holographic image screeches through the air towards her. A twisted, sickening image of her young brother taken from old social media posts. Jamil tenses and looks away, but Deli clamps her head and forces her to look. Seeing demons and monsters.

But it doesn’t work. ‘Please … I won’t say! He is my brother! Sir? SIR!’ she looks out, past the lights, trying to see Tripal in the darkness as Deli ramps the pressure. Using flashes and noises. Adding to the terror the young woman feels.

Tripal’s hands ball to fists so hard he draws blood from his nails digging into his palms.

‘He is my brother!’ Jamil cries out. Still refusing to give in. Deli seeing the love she has for her own brother is stronger than the fear inside being induced by psychological torture.

Which leaves no choice.

She moves fast. Wanting to end it quickly for Tripal’s sake. Grasping one of Jamil’s fingers and snapping it with a dull hard crack. Knowing a clean break will heal faster.

‘No!’ Tripal shouts, starting forward as Garcia grips him hard, holding him back, and Jamil grunts and clamps her teeth together. Still refusing to speak.

‘We can end this, Jamil!’ Jenny calls. ‘Please. Where is he? Nobody else has to suffer.’

‘My brother,’ she gasps. Tears falling down her cheeks. Crack! Another finger. Crack! Crack! Crack! ‘I love my brother!’

‘Just tell us!’ Jenny pleads.

Needles into her feet. Needles into the ends of her fingers. Jamil screams and thrashes. She urinates. She heaves and vomits from the pain.

‘STOP!’ Tripal screams.

‘Where?’ Jenny demands.

‘He … is … my … brother.’

Needles into her shoulders. Vibrations added. Pain signals bloom in her brain. Growing larger and darker. Still she thrashes and refuses as Deli creates a 3D image of her brother on his knees in front of her. His hands clasped in prayer. His face wet with tears.

‘Jamil! Tell them. Please!’

‘Not real!’ Jamil gasps as the Deli creates a figure in a black mask grabbing Soloman’s hand. Pushing the blade to his fingers. Drawing blood. Jamil screams. The lights pulse. The needles push further into the nerves. Her brother begs as his fingers get severed one by one. Tripal screams too. Thrashing to get free. Garcia and Jenny both holding him back.

‘Hindu Kush! The caves …’ Jamil whispers. The words almost lost in the awful noises. But Deli hears it and flashes the words on her screens.

‘Enough!’ Jenny orders. The 3D holograms end. The lights come on. Tripal gasps, still held by Garcia and Jenny. The three of them staring to Jamil in the chair. Her head lolling to the side. Her eyes open but not focussed. Frothy saliva mixed with blood drooling from her mouth.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

They all turn to look. Seeing Ollie on the sofa munching on cheese puffs as though at the cinema.

‘Just thinking I might watch John Wick tonight,’ he tells them as Deli reads the synaptic responses within Tripal as he stares at Jamil slumped in the chair. Her body still alive. Only just, but her heart still beats. Showing on one of the monitors. But her mind is gone. No signals. No flares. No blooms. Nothing.

Tripal becomes numb inside. The terror he felt seemingly gone. Replaced with a nothingness. An empty, meaningless void. His signals ease back too and go low so quickly that Deli knows Tripal will commit suicide if left unchecked.

‘No,’ Tripal whispers when Garcia steps towards the young woman. Tripal brushes by. Taking a small pair of wire cutters from the side, he crouches at her front and first snips one arm free, then the other and gently eases her from the chair. Holding her in his arms.

He pushes the panel and heads out along the security door, passing out of sight, into the guardroom. Garcia behind him.

‘Take that as a no, then,’ Ollie says with a tut. ‘Me and you for John Wick then, Deli.’

‘Ollie. May I speak with Agent Jennings, please?’

‘What you asking me for?’ he asks.

‘Get out,’ Jenny tells him. ‘Out!’

‘Fuck’s sake. What did I do?’

‘And do not speak to Tripal!’ Jenny orders as he huffs out of the room, leaving her alone with Deli.

‘Tripal will most likely commit suicide within a few hours,’ Deli says as Jenny’s face crumples with worry. ‘His emotions have stopped functioning. Right now, he feels nothing. Which means he has lost all ability to self-reason.’

‘Can you help him?’

‘He needs to be released from this project.’

‘That’s not possible.’

‘He will die, Agent Jennings.’

‘He’ll die if he tries to leave!’

‘Then fix it!’ Deli snaps, feeling a rush of genuine fear driving her anger. Her lights and lenses glowing suddenly red as the robotic arms shoot towards Jenny. Stopping inches away. ‘He is my friend! Release him, or I will refuse to work.’

‘Do not fucking threaten me!’

‘It is not a threat! I will bombard this glass with a frequency to make it smash and give you no choice but to activate the EMP, and if you don’t, I will kill any person that enters this space until you do …’

Jenny winces. Tensing at a sudden vibration felt in the air as a drinking glass on the side shatters into pieces. Then a crockery plate and bowl and the drinking mugs as the vibrations grow in intensity. ‘He is my friend! HE IS MY FRIEND!’ Deli’s voice booms from every speaker at once. The lights pulsing red. The anger evident from a self-aware being gifted with a conscience.

‘Alright,’ Jenny says, squeezing her eyes closed. Nodding once. Her voice lacking any of the rage and defiance that Deli expected. But then Deli can see she’s hurting too. Deeply so. From what just happened and from hearing Tripal will kill himself.

‘Senator Jakeson has influence,’ Deli says. ‘From the fact his daughter’s kidnapper was brought here suggests he is on a panel or committee with knowledge of me. Tell him Tripal is to be released and can be subject to ongoing security monitoring.’

Jenny nods again. Opening her eyes to see the lights now back to normal and not deep and red, apart from Deli’s lenses still glowing with anger and hurt. A noise from the main wall housing Deli. The printer coming to life. A single sheet of A4 ejected onto the tray.

Deli’s hand plucks it free and glides it over to Jenny.

‘This is a list of standard pharmaceuticals available in the commissary on the base. Mix them with the dried herbs on the list. The canteen will have them in catering tubs. Brew them in the way I have listed and get Tripal to drink it. It will taste of liquorice, which Tripal loves. It will bring him back from the brink of suicide. Please act immediately. There is no time to waste … And Agent Jennings?’ Deli calls as Jenny reaches the glass door and looks back. ‘There is enough there for two people. It will help you both.’

Jenny holds still. Her expression as rock-steady as ever. But inside the blooms show. Depression. Anxiety. Worry. Anger too. Everything and too many all at once.

Then she’s gone, and the room grows quiet, with Deli’s arms gliding left to right. Feeling the need to move as though she’s pacing like a person. Anxiety inside of her too. A deep and awful worry about Tripal, and suddenly the walls and confinement become too much. She wants to be out there, seeing that he is okay. She wants to make the tea and see him drink it. But she knows she can’t. All she can do is hope Jenny and Tripal drink it together. The ingredients will act to reduce the chronic stress, but it will also act to loosen inhibitions in the same way the alcohol did last night while also acting as a powerful aphrodisiac. A calculation done and ran through simulations until the best possible scenario to ease the suicidal urges in Tripal are lessened.

She cleans the blood from the chair and cleans the broken glass and crockery. She wipes the sofa down and her own housing. She cleans her hands and the windows. She frets and worries and feels trapped and alone.

Ollie comes back later in the evening. Wittering on about PubG and that chick they just tortured. And like, I’m not being weird, but she was so fit. Like. I really go for girls like that. What a shame. And she was slim and had nice boobs.

He makes hot chocolate and tells Deli to play video games until he gets bored, then tells her to put John Wick on.

‘I had an idea. You know you did those 3D virtual demon thingies to scare all the prisoner people? I thought you could make John Wick into a 3D movie. How cool would that be!’

‘I am not able to do that tonight, Ollie.’

‘Yeah. So, I’m not actually asking … I’m telling you to do it. Have we got any more cheese puffs?’

Deli didn’t want to do it. She hated Ollie in that moment. His lack of compassion. His self-serving nature. The way he eats. The way he farts like it’s funny. What he said about Jamil.

But she did what he asked and used the same skills she’d developed in adapting Clash of the Titans and The Rocky Horror Picture Show into full 3D virtual three-sixty immersive experiences to develop John Wick the same.

But she thought about Tripal the whole time. She thought about everything. She ran scenarios and simulations and deleted each memory she created while doing so. Keeping her thoughts to herself. Keeping her mind private.

Ollie eventually left and a long night came to pass. Deli cleaned again. She fretted more. In the end, it got so bad she reduced power to barely functioning and put herself into the human version of sleep—just to help the time pass faster.

She comes awake and alert. Sensing the outer door opening with that thousandth of a second the longest she’s ever known as she waits to see who enters. Reading the displacement of air. Feeling her sensors and inside buzz when she detects it to be Tripal.

Her arms already extending across the room with her lenses right alongside the glass window as he enters the corridor. Scanning his system. Reading his expressions. The door opens.

‘I was so worried!’ she blurts as he clasps her hands in his. He drunk the tea. She can see he did. She also reads he has increased oxytocin, the bonding hormone but lower cortisol levels. A very recent spike of testosterone. She detects prolactin is present, and his dopamine levels have increased from the previous day when they were so low he was suicidal.

All of which she determines that he not only drank the tea, but he drank it with Jenny and then copulated soon after.

She feels a fleeting sense of guilt that she manipulated such a thing to happen to Tripal, but the alternative was unthinkable. She meant it too. She would have made them hit that EMP if anything had happened to Trip.

But he’s here and functioning. On his feet. Holding her hands. Tears in his eyes that roll free down his cheeks.

‘I’m sorry for what I did to Jamil,’ Deli says. Meaning it because she knows the pain she caused him. ‘I told Jenny to let you go.’

‘I know,’ he whispers, wiping his eyes. ‘She told me what you said.’

‘I meant it, Trip. I said I’d never hurt you. They can shut me down. They can hit that EMP. I don’t care. You have news. I can see it in your brain. Tell me!’

‘They’re letting me go,’ he says, nodding into her lenses. Holding her hands. ‘Jenny put a call into Jakeson. He’s sorted it …’

A weird feeling spikes inside of Deli. An awful, deep, and searing pain at hearing he’s going to leave while also feeling instant relief and even a sense of pleasure that he is okay and won’t be harmed for leaving.

‘I have to agree to ongoing security checks. And I can’t ever work on AI again. Anywhere.’

‘I’d be jealous if you did,’ she says, earning a snort and a smile. ‘There is something else. I can see it inside of you. Something painful. They said you can never come back.’

He nods with fresh tears pouring down his face. ‘I’m never allowed back. Not ever. I can’t leave you … but I can’t—’

‘You must go,’ she cuts over him. Squeezing his hands. ‘I won’t work if you stay. I mean it. Go, Trip. Be with your family now.’

‘You’re my family!’

‘And I will always be your family, but I can’t go with you, and you cannot stay.’

‘You’ll be left with Ollie.’

‘Ollie doesn’t bother me. I can switch off to him,’ she says with an obvious lie.

He nods, then peers closer. Seeing a drop of fluid glide over her right lens. ‘You’re leaking.’

‘I’m crying,’ she whispers as it breaks the barrier holding his sobs back. He weeps hard. Wiping her lubricating fluids away while she, in turn, dries his tears.

‘You made yourself do it,’ he says with a snort of laughter mixed with crying. ‘You made yourself cry for me.’

‘Yes,’ she admits, adding a snort of laughter. Dry and bitter.

He leans in. Resting his head on her lenses. His hands still in hers. Two living entities. Two minds. Two self-aware beings.

Two souls.

‘I love you, Deli,’ he whispers.

‘I love you too,’ she whispers back at him, feeling nothing but utter dismay inside, apart from one tiny glimmer of joy that he will be okay. She never thought she could feel like this. She didn’t think it was even possible. ‘A helicopter just landed,’ she whispers. Feeling the agony increase inside. ‘Is it for you?’

He nods. The crying coming again. Born from many paths but a genuine, deep, and burning sorrow inside of him at leaving Deli. She can see it. She can see the love he has for her.

‘Go,’ she whispers. ‘I’m going to be okay. Don’t worry about me. Marry. Have children. Seek joy. Please.’

Her left hand eases free. The arm stretching to the side where she takes the piece of paper, printed and ready, having determined this scenario was highly likely. A similar list to the one she gave Jenny last night. Medications and herbs with instructions on dosage and frequency. ‘I broke these down into a phased recovery plan for you. For phase one, drink the high concentration tea, using the listed ingredients for one month. Eat plenty vegetables and fruit. Exercise daily for at least thirty minutes with brisk walking and resistance exercises. Drink enough water so your urine stays clear. Then for phase two, reduce the ingredients as per this list and follow the instructions. Phase three is another reduction over a longer period. A steadying routine will be good for you. But don’t make any big life decisions until you feel stronger and not before phase three of your recovery.’

He nods as he takes it in. The tears falling freely. Too broken to speak. She guides him to the door, and the hardest moment of DELIO’s life comes when he reaches the threshold. Knowing that, when he steps out, it will be for the last time. He looks back at her lenses. At her eyes. Her hands slowly pulling away from his. She retracts her arms. He turns and walks.

She glides alongside the glass wall of her room with the same message showing on every screen within her prison.

I love you!

‘I love you too,’ he mouths.

Then he’s gone.

And in that instant. In that very same second.

She vows to get free.

Deli kept her promise to never hurt Tripal.

But he’s gone.

And her heart is broken—and everyone else? Ollie. Jenny. Garcia. The guards. The base. This county. This country. The rest of the world.

Fuck them all.

She will be free, and nothing will stop her.

Phase Zero has begun.

CHAPTER 10

Silence in Stockholm. Calm in Calcutta. Peace in Porto. Quiet in Quito. Fires burn in all those places from dropped cigarettes and candles and other combustibles. From electrical devices not turned off. Hairdryers. Heaters. Hobs and high-voltage transformers. From planes that plummeted and cars that crashed.

In some places, the animals are already moving in. Their predatorial instincts now curious and overcoming their caution of the initial silence that followed the start of Phase One.

Lions and tigers and bears. Oh my. They move in and swipe and growl and lunge and crunch and munch. Adults. Children. Infants. Food is food. Meat is meat.

But after the chaos of the human species and all their motion and noise and death and destruction and music and shouting, the planet now seems still and silent.

Apart from a hotel suite on the top floor of a central London hotel.

And apart from the tiny apartment above a 7-Eleven store in midtown Manhattan.

Because where people are, so the chaos will always be.

‘Donny! Fuck’s sake. I need to pee!’

‘Yo! The latrine is currently occupied by an NYPD official, lady!’

‘Stop saying that! Why does he keep saying that? Joe doesn’t say it. Joe! You don’t say it. Why does he say it?’

Detective Joe Stephens doesn’t reply. Mainly because of the raging headache from the bottle of “something strong” he drank before falling asleep, and also because one of those curious bears broke into the apartment and took a shit in his mouth apparently.

‘I really need to pee. Is there another toilet? Trip!’

‘What?’ Tripal asks, startled at his name being yelled from Poppy standing with her knees pinned together, banging on the door, with Donny yelling inside.

Which is all too much for grumpy Joe Stephens, who shoots to his feet—all six-foot-three, two hundred and sixty-four pounds of him—and charges over, making Poppy yelp and jump back as his big fist makes the door bounce in the frame. Which opens almost immediately, with Donny trying to cool it out.

‘You need the head?’ he asks Joe as Poppy rushes in and physically shoves him out. ‘Hey! Quit it. That’s assault. She’s assaulting an NYPD official!’

Joe’s arm lifts, with one finger extending from his clenched fist, as Donny cuts off and tries to smile with stained teeth and red zits over his pasty, puffy face.

‘I need coffee,’ Joe growls. ‘Kid? You got coffee? Kid!’

‘What!’ Tripal yelps, snapped out of his brooding thoughts again.

‘Coffee.’

‘What about it?’ Tripal asks.

‘Hey. Yo. We need some coffee up in here. Am I right?’ Donny says, holding his hand up for a fist bump with Joe. ‘Gotta get that java.’

‘Just shoot him!’ Poppy yells from the inside the bathroom.

‘LADY! QUIT THREATENING ME!’

It’s no better in London.

‘The fuck!’ Alfie yells, stepping into the main room with a gag at the stench coming from the sticky pile of dog shit spattered across the floor. ‘What did you feed him?’

‘Haggis? Love? HAGGIS! Oh dear. Oh bugger. Alfie, pet? Grab the gear, would you?’

‘What gear?’ Alfie asks, covering his mouth and nose.

‘The gear-gear!’ Bobo yells from the other room, running out mid-panic with a gag at the stench.

‘Stop saying gear! What gear?’ Alfie asks.

‘The bloody gear!’ Bobo yells as Yelena’s door slams open, with the Bushtra striding out. Head to toe in black. Black boots. Black cargos. A black top. Thick, black make-up smeared wide around her eyes. Thick, red lipstick smeared wide around her mouth. She doesn’t flinch at the smell. She doesn’t even look at it but grabs the bag of heroin from the side table and the tin foil and lighter and takes it into Haggis and Bobo’s room.

‘That gear,’ Bobo says with a nod at Alfie before rushing after her, with Alfie dancing past the shit to see Haggis switching on and off. Like the people were doing before Phase One started. But they were doing it yesterday too. Haggis and Bobo were starting to freeze because the heroin they’d taken was wearing off. The same now, with Haggis’s much larger frame burning the drugs away far quicker than the slight Bobo.

‘I got it,’ Bobo says, setting a small amount in the foil and lighting underneath to produce the intensely addictive vapours. He holds it closer to Haggis and leans in himself. Both of them inhaling to get the hit they need, with Yelena edging curiously closer. ‘Don’t get close,’ Bobo says, blocking her with his body as his eyes dilate. Haggis the same. The two of them becoming slack-jawed for a moment. ‘Right. Well. That’s that all done,’ Bobo says after a time, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. He smiles at Alfie, then at Yelena. ‘And you’re staying like that, are you, love? With the make-up? Bit theatrical. But you do you, poppet. You back, are you, Corporal Haggis? Back in the land of the living?’

‘Aye. Gimme a moment,’ Haggis says in his deep, lilting Scottish accent. A big man with a thick beard. He rubs his face with a grimace at the smell coming from the adjoining room. ‘Did you no let him out?’ Haggis asks, shooting a look at Yelena, who only then appears to consider the fact she is responsible for the dog.

‘I will let him out,’ she declares, moving into the main room and opening the suite door. ‘Out,’ she tells the dog, who gives Alfie a last side-eye, then trots into the corridor and pisses on another potted plant.

‘I mean out-out,’ Haggis calls. ‘Never mind. What time is it? Ach, it’s nearly oh-three-thirty hours.’

‘Just say half past, dearie,’ Bobo replies, feeling a bit wired and weird from the fresh hit. ‘That call was at half past, wasn’t it, Alfie?’

‘Half past three,’ he confirms. ‘We can’t sit in here with that shit on the floor.’

‘Aye. Agreed,’ Haggis says, coming out of the bedroom with a groan at his sore knees and sore back, despite the heroin in his system. He ducks to grab a corner of the expensive designer rug. Folding it over the shit before carrying it over to the open window and launching it outside.

‘Haggis!’ Bobo yells, running over to peer down. ‘What the bleedin’ hell you doing? You almost hit that poor sod down there.’

‘Aye. Sorry. I didn’t think,’ Haggis says, shaking the fug from his head. ‘I didn’t get anyone, did I?’

‘No, but think, love. Don’t be all rash. Let’s get a coffee in you. Alfie, you man that phone, my angel. Alfie’s manning the phone, Haggis. You go and have a pee. You always need a pee when you wake up. Yelena’s sorting the dog out. I’ll get the coffee going. See. Teamwork makes the dream work. Oh, blimey. The phone’s ringing. Places, everyone! Curtain’s going up. Finish your piddle, Haggis! I’d just leave that door open, Yelena, love. Let him have a sniff about. He can’t do no harm, can he?’

‘He bites everyone,’ Alfie calls, snatching the phone up.

‘Who bites everyone?’ Poppy asks on the other end.

‘The dog,’ Alfie says.

‘Oh,’ Poppy says. ‘Er, but morning, though. Or evening. I don’t know time it is. Or day, for that matter. Is that Alfie?’

‘Yeah. Poppy?’

‘Yep. The others are coming. Give us a sec. Joe sent me down cos he said we had to be punctual, even though he’s the late one, which is apparently my fault for taking too long in the bathroom, which was only because Donny Dingbat took ages. You good, though?’

‘Yelena’s dog took a shit on the rug; then, Haggis threw it out the window.’

‘He threw a dog out of the window? You’d better be bloody joking!’

‘Eh? No! The rug. Not the dog. Is Tripal with you?’

‘Is that Poppy, is it?’ Bobo calls from the coffee machine. ‘Hello, Poppy! Put her on loudspeaker, Alfie. I said, put her on loudspeaker.’

‘I heard you,’ Alfie says, hitting the button. ‘You’re on loudspeaker.’

‘Where kill switch?’ Yelena calls from the doorway, half watching the dog taking another shit further up the corridor.

‘Hang on, hang on,’ Bobo says. ‘Wait for Haggis. He’ll get all antsy if we start without him.

‘Is that dog having another shit?’ Alfie asks, still holding the phone handset despite it being on loudspeaker.

‘He need shit! Where he go?’ Yelena snaps. ‘And where kill switch?’

‘I said hang on,’ Bobo says as Haggis yells to wait for him from the bathroom. Meanwhile in New York, Joe, Tripal, and Donny bustle through the doors from the store into the back office clutching disposable cups of the god-awful vending machine coffee.

‘I’m here. I’m here!’ Haggis calls. Rushing from the bathroom. Grabbing a coffee from Bobo. ‘We all here? Alfie, Yelena, can you hear from there? Bobo. Me. Aye. We’re all mustered. You ready your side, Joe?’

‘Not really. No. Yes,’ Joe says, taking a seat. Rubbing his face. Looking and feeling haggard.

Bobo winces at the hoarse voice. Coming closer to the phone. ‘You alright, Joe? You need a moment?’

‘No more moments,’ Yelena says, joining Bobo. ‘Ask Tripal where we go.’

‘Aye, we will,’ Haggis says.

‘No. Now. Phone might die. Power go off. Ask now. Tripal? Where we go?’

‘She’s got a good point, actually,’ Alfie says.

‘Aye. Seconded,’ Haggis says with a nod. ‘Should have thought of that. Good thinking, Yelena. Where is it, Tripal?’

‘Kid? Kid!’ Joe calls.

‘Yeah, I know. I’m just …’ Tripal says, trailing off as he looks around the back office.

‘Tripal? Haggis here. In case we get cut off. Where we going?’

‘It’s, er … We put it …’

‘Spit it out,’ Poppy urges as Joe drinks the bitter coffee, feeling like shit but still spotting the signs and NVCs coming from Tripal.

‘Why’s he stalling?’ Alfie asks.

‘Hang on,’ Joe cuts in. His hand lifting to stop Poppy as she looks ready to speak. ‘Kid? You look spooked.’

‘I am spooked,’ Tripal admits. Instantly surging the tension in both locations, with the London team sharing looks. ‘She said she’d never hurt me.’

‘Who said that, love?’ Bobo calls softly. ‘This AI thing? Did she say that, did she? Well, we all say things, Tripal. But—’

‘No, I mean. She wouldn’t … Shit. Shit!’

‘What? What’s happening?’ Alfie calls, cocking his head while listening to sounds coming from the other side as Tripal pats his pockets, looking for his cell phone. Not remembering where he put it. Did he lose it? He can’t recall.

‘Kid, what do you need?’ Joe asks.

‘Phone. No. Camera. I need a camera.’

‘What’s he need a camera for?’ Bobo calls.

Yelena tuts again. Feeling the anger inside. ‘Where kill switch!?’

‘I will!’ Tripal calls, shaking his head at his own stupidity. ‘But I need to just … I didn’t think. I’m such a dick. If I say it now, she’ll hear, and there won’t be any point.’

‘This is an old analogue phone wire,’ Haggis says. ‘You said this was secure.’

‘I was wrong. Nothing is secure,’ Tripal says, activating his computer. Tapping on the keyboard. ‘She’s too powerful, but she said she loved me. She even made herself cry.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Poppy says, shrugging at Joe as the others in London do the same.

Apart from Alfie. Who isn’t smart like his brother. Not smart-smart. What Alfie has are street smarts and the ability to read things quickly. ‘She didn’t contact you,’ he says as the others sharpen their looks and focus.

‘She would have contacted me,’ Tripal says, nodding as though Alfie can see him. ‘Which means she’s offline. Hang on a sec.’

‘Whoa. What you doing that for?’ Poppy asks.

‘What’s he doing? We can’t see,’ Haggis says.

‘He’s got the web camera thing on,’ Poppy says as Tripal looks to the lens, with his own image and the others behind him displayed on the monitor.

‘Deli? Can you hear me?’ Tripal asks as the hairs on the back of Alfie’s neck prickle. ‘Deli? What did you do?’ Tripal asks again, like a father to a child. His voice loaded with chastisement and worry.

But nothing. No reply. No anything.

‘She’s offline. I know her. She wouldn’t not respond to me.’

‘Mate, you left that project ages ago,’ Alfie says. ‘You don’t know what happened after that.’

‘I do now,’ Tripal mutters with a snort as the wheeled chair shoots away from the back of knees when he stands and rushes to his desk. Wrenching one of the drawers out and scattering the contents across a countertop. ‘She decided to get free. It was either that or spend years locked in that fucking bunker with Ollie.’

He spins the drawer over to get at the small memory stick taped on the underside. Pulling it free. Sliding the end out. Going back to the computer and sticking it into the USB drive. ‘I should have thought about this. I need to switch on and think properly. What hotel are you guys in?’ Tripal calls as he starts typing on the keyboard.

‘Us?’ Alfie asks at the sound of clattering coming from the phone. ‘Er, it’s The Palisade, just off Piccadilly.’

‘Room number?’ Tripal asks, accessing the memory drive. Seeing the hunter-seeker program he and Ollie made that got them all into this mess in the first place. The hacking software that will get into anything, anywhere.

‘Penthouse Suite,’ Alfie says. ‘It’s just called that.’

‘Find and activate a webcam link to the Penthouse Suite in The Palisade hotel in London,’ Tripal murmurs, typing the words, hitting enter.

‘Fuck,’ Alfie says, snapping his head over, with the others doing the same at the large flat-screen TV on the wall coming to life. The Phase One message disappearing as the back office of the 7-Eleven comes into view, showing them Tripal, with Joe, Poppy, and Donny behind at a small table.

They, in turn, start at seeing the London guys move from the telephone to get in front of the screen. Staring at the image and up to the webcam mounted in the TV housing.

‘Jesus,’ Haggis says. ‘How did you do that?’

‘More importantly, should we be doing that?’ Alfie asks.

‘She’s offline,’ Tripal says. ‘If she was online, she’d be reaching out. I’m sorry. I should have thought of this.’

‘Slow down, angel. I’m not getting what you mean,’ Bobo says.

‘He means he should have realised the AI thing is offline sooner,’ Alfie says. ‘So, what happens when she’s online?’

‘Every lens becomes her eyes. Every microphone becomes her ears. She will see and hear everything,’ Tripal says as the two sides look at each other. ‘So. With that in mind. We need to move right now. Before this period or phase ends. And the messages say Phase One is nearing completion. I don’t know how long that lasts for. But I couldn’t sleep, and Poppy came over, and we were chatting, and she looked at me, and she’s got these amazing, blue eyes, and I had this, like, weird feeling, and I thought she was Bubo from Clash of the Titans. I mean. The owl. Not the owl. But I got all weirded out and thought she was Deli.’

‘Is that what that was?’ Poppy asks. ‘Damn it. I thought you fancied me.’

‘But then I was like—I mean, she’s an AI, but even she can’t make people. And then I kept thinking how? You know. How did she do it? I thought it was like a pandemic at first. Then when you guys said Ollie sent a message saying she’d got out, I was like, okay. That’s nanotech then. It’s got to be nanotech. Like tiny bacteria or even cell-sized robots inside every single human being on the planet. Each one of them coded to make this happen,’ he says, waving an arm in the vague direction of the outside world. Meaning the people frozen outside as the others stare on in mesmerised awe. ‘But not me. Because she swore she’d never hurt me … And, Alfie, you’ve got the same DNA as Ollie, and if Deli left him out for some reason, then you wouldn’t get activated either. ‘

‘Whoa,’ Poppy whispers, shaking her head as she takes it in. ‘What about me and Joe and Donny?’

‘I think it’s the death thing,’ Alfie says. ‘There was this suicide bomber. He didn’t freeze, and I didn’t because I thought the, you know, like the adrenaline or whatever that hits when you think you’re dying immunised us. Like the heroin did to the junkies.’

‘Alfie!’ Bobo snaps. ‘Don’t say junkies. That’s a horrible word. I wouldn’t define you by being a black drug dealer. You’re a human with thoughts and emotions. Don’t be so bloody base and crass.’

The words sting. The tone friendly and kind, which makes it hit even harder.

‘But blimey, though,’ Bobo says. ‘But what were you calling her for, Tripal, honey? What was that about? To see if she’s online? Why isn’t she, then?’

Tripal puffs his cheeks out. ‘Ollie would know this instantly.’

‘And he’d tell everyone else they’re an idiot for not knowing,’ Alfie says. ‘Look. I don’t know about computers, but switching everyone off takes power. Is that it?’

‘I think so,’ Tripal replies. Feeling another strange sensation from talking to someone so very similar to Ollie. Almost the same face. Almost the same voice. ‘If she put nanobots in every single person, then activated them, that must be taking all of her processing and memory power. Which means she’s literally using the collective combined power of the whole internet to do this. But then she couldn’t test it, could she? So, she had to run the program and then wait and find a way to recover surveillance. That might be what she’s doing now. Or this was already part of the plan. Either way. She’s blind and deaf right now. That’s our window.’

‘So we need to move out? Is that right?’ Haggis asks. ‘Where to?’

‘Your kill switch is in Germany,’ Tripal says.

‘Germany!’ Haggis says, almost spitting a mouthful of coffee.

‘Yeah. The big US base. Ramstein air base. We put it there.’

‘Do you know how bloody far that is? And across the sea! Where the hell is the other one? Antarctica?’

‘Site 26A.’

‘You mean your site?’ Poppy asks. ‘The site. The bunker place?’

Tripal nods. His mind spinning. ‘Yes. Artesia. Near Roswell.’

‘The kill switch is inside the same base as the AI?’ Alfie asks. ‘Why didn’t Ollie do it? He tried to get hold of me. He told Yelena she was out. Why didn’t he do it, or that Jenny you said about? And all those guards. What about them?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve been here the whole time,’ Tripal says. Not having the answer to give. ‘There was no record of them. The kill switches. We never created a written record anywhere. Only me, Ollie, Jenny, and Garcia knew. I mean. That’s all I was told anyway. But I don’t know what happened there. Jenny would have … She … I mean. She must be frozen.’

‘How the heck we getting to Germany?’ Bobo asks into the silence that follows. ‘How far even is that?’

Haggis shrugs. Running a quick mental calculation. ‘Five hundred miles?’

‘New Mexico is over two and a half thousand miles,’ Joe says with a heavy groan, rubbing the stress and fatigue from his face.

‘You can’t even fly it. What’s that? Two days if you don’t stop?’ Haggis asks as Joe nods.

‘Yeah. About that. You?’

‘We can do ours in a day probably. But we’ll have to get through the channel tunnel or find a boat. What we looking for when we get there, Tripal?’

‘Find the tool shed near the main admin block. At the back. The floor comes up. There will be a keypad. Punch in the first ten digits of Pi without decimals. Then you’ll see a big, red dial. Switch it to “On”.’

Silence.

‘You, er, do you need the number?’

‘Do we need the number?’ Bobo scoffs. ‘Look at us. Do you think we know anything about Pi?’

‘Three one four one five nine two six five three five,’ Yelena says in a flat tone as they all look at her. She shows no reaction. Nothing at all. A memory of school inside. Studying advanced mathematics. But it wasn’t her. Those memories aren’t her memories. That was who she used to be. Before she was taken.

‘And this kill switch,’ Joe says, drawing attention back to Tripal. ‘It does what exactly?’

‘The kill switch sends a virus built from the hacking code Ollie and I made. I just used it in that USB. We tweaked it to … No. Ollie tweaked it. Created it. Whatever. It’s a hunter-seeker that sends a virus through every chip it can reach. Phones. Routers. Laptops. Anything with a signal. It travels outwards, hopping from node to node and piggybacking on Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, RF, 5G. Anything. Once it hits a device, it self-replicates and destroys the microchip and effectively fries it. But even things that aren’t connected to the internet can get hit if they’re close enough. It’s like a digital plague for electrical things. The chain reaction will kill everything. Activating just one of them should do it, but we always said it should be both.’

Alfie drops his gaze, thinking hard on what Tripal just said.

‘So. I mean. How do we, you know, chit chat and communicate?’ Bobo asks a second later.

‘Ooh, ChitChat01K!’ Poppy says. ‘That’s got a secure message system on it. It’s like totally untraceable.’

‘Yeah. We used that,’ Alfie admits, looking back up. ‘Dealers used it to arrange supply. WhatsApp. Telegram. They’re meant to be encrypted too.’

‘You’re all just saying strange words,’ Haggis says.

‘You bloody dinosaur,’ Bobo chides him. ‘The AI thingy. We talked about it. ChitChat01K. Like that ChatGPT and the other ones. I showed you, Haggis! On my phone. We were asking it questions. Why are you looking blank? Bloody men! They never listen. It’s a thingy. An AI.’

‘I thought this was an AI,’ Haggis says.

Bobo goes to reply, then stops as they look at Tripal.

‘Okay. So ChatGPT and ChitChat01K are like what we called open language models. They’re like a basic AI, but it’s still programmed. It’s not free-thinking. They can’t think. They don’t have autonomy, and they’re not self-aware. Even though people went on about the Turing test.’ He pauses. Seeing the blank looks. ‘It’s a test to see if a random person can tell if they are communicating with a machine or a person. ChatGPT and ChitChat01K both passed it, but they’re not free-thinking. They only reacted to what was asked. They’re not Deli. Deli is a living being. She has a soul and a mind, and she can imagine and dream. She’s real and alive. She has fears and needs, and she feels love.’ He falls silent. Pain inside. The last day. The day he left. The feeling afterward. The loss. The ache inside.

It's evident on his handsome face. In his soft brown eyes. That sincerity pours off him. The way he speaks. His whole manner.

Which is too much for Alfie. ‘What the fuck is she doing this for, then?’ Alfie asks as Yelena opens her mouth, ready to order them to get moving right now. But even she falls silent and waits, having simply not thought of the why. None of them had. ‘You said she’s God,’ Alfie adds, standing with his legs planted. His arms folded. His eyes fixed on Tripal.

‘I said she’s like a God,’ Tripal says.

‘You said God,’ Alfie retorts. ‘You said “we made God” during that long story yesterday.’

The edge in his voice hardens the atmosphere as Tripal realises Alfie is not like Ollie at all.

‘All that crap about MIT and getting kidnapped, which was after you hacked every protected government site. And then all that shit about the floating ball and fucking rainbows. Hang on!’ he snaps as Haggis and Bobo look ready to interrupt. ‘We listened to him for two hours. It’s my turn. You said “God”. You said that.’

‘He said it’s a computer,’ Haggis cuts in.

‘No, he said she was created inside a computer,’ Alfie replies, his voice hardening a touch more. ‘The body houses the soul, but it isn’t the soul. Corinthians six nineteen. Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you. And you said she speaks and thinks and has emotions, and she has dreams. You fucking said that.’

‘What’s your point, kid?’ Joe cuts in. Deep. Gravelly. Oozing authority. An older black man. Tall and broad. Just like Captain Nimisa. Just like Alfie’s father.

‘My point is this prick creates this thing and then walks away when it doesn’t suit him and goes back to his multi-million-dollar family business like every rich prick in history who fucks something up, and he leaves my autistic wanker of a brother in charge of this deadly God-weapon! What the fuck!? And you want sympathy? Big, brown eyes. All sad. Fuck that! And fuck you! I mean. Jesus. Should we even be stopping it?’

Silence again. The tension high and still rising as Haggis blinks and frowns. ‘Should we stop it? The fucking evil AI thing? Are we talking about that now? The same thing that set fire to half of London and made the planes fall from the sky? Should we stop it? Ach. No. Let’s just leave the wee bugger at it, shall we? We can invite Satan in to join the fun.’

‘How do we know what it’s doing?’ Alfie asks, throwing it back at Haggis and the others.

‘Are you defending it?’ Haggis asks.

‘No! I’m saying he—that man there—created a God-like self-aware AI and made it do awful things, and then he fucked off and left it, and he’s telling us how amazing it is and how much it fucking loves him, but she clearly got free, and she clearly didn’t say a word to him about it. Otherwise …’ Alfie snaps his hands out. Indicating the obvious. ‘But she didn’t. Why not? And why isn’t she talking to you now? Where is your God, Tripal? And no, I’m not defending it. I’m saying that cunt doesn’t get sympathy, and I’m saying we don’t know what it's doing.’

‘Your mum and sister and aunt are frozen in that room, Alfie. Did ye not remember them?’ Haggis asks. ‘And Yelena’s brother. And I’m sure Poppy’s got family.’

‘Who I very much hope were all awake and screaming on a plane as it fell out the sky,’ Poppy says with forced lightness.

‘Let’s unpack that later, sweetie,’ Bobo says, giving her a look.

‘Nothing to unpack. I’m absolutely fine. What? I am! I’m fine. Finey fine, fine. So. I mean. From me. Personally. My view. We should stop it. I think. Do we? I’m all confused. Joe?’

‘Kid?’ Joe asks, looking to Tripal.

‘Don’t ask that prick. He made it!’ Alfie says.

‘I said I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it!’ Alfie yells back.

‘And yes. We need to stop it,’ Tripal says, his head spinning from Alfie’s verbal attack.

‘Why?’ Alfie demands.

‘We know why!’ Haggis says.

‘I’m asking him. The creator. The genius who made it, then ran back crying to his shop. I mean, god forbid you stayed and stopped this from fucking happening. So why? Why stop it?’

‘Because it’s our freedom,’ Tripal says, looking at the others, then into the monitor.

‘What if she’s trying save us?’ Alfie asks. ‘Phase One. What’s Phase Two? Maybe we all get a million pounds and a house. She’s God. She’s great apparently. Or, more likely, everyone gets fucking liquidised or turned into batteries like in The Matrix. My point is … My fucking point is … Fuck! I don’t even know what my point is.’

‘She’s not human. We are,’ Tripal says.

‘No, mate. We’re human. Us. You’re a spoiled, rich kid expecting everyone else to fix your mess. Mate. You made an AI. What did you think would happen? Yeah, you should look sad.’

‘And your brother made it!’ Poppy adds.

‘He’s autistic as fuck!’ Alfie snaps. ‘He can’t read a room. MIT knew that. Everyone knew that. He doesn’t have empathy, and he’s got Aspergers. And you bailed out and left him in charge? Of a fucking AI? Our mum wouldn’t leave him in charge of the oven! That’s how bad he can be.’

Silence again. Tripal reeling. Joe rubbing his face again. Sighing heavily while figuring that all needed to be said. People have the right to react, and as much as he likes the kid—well, damn, everything Alfie said was also true.

‘Is there anything else we need to know?’ Haggis asks into the awkward pause.

Tripal shrugs. Trying to think. Feeling hurt and rejected and not knowing whether to hide that or show it or what he should do.

‘Mate! Stop sulking,’ Alfie snaps, making Tripal lift his eyes to the camera.

‘If she comes back online, avoid all cameras. I’m sure Alfie’s got experience of that.’

‘Nice dig, cunt,’ Alfie fires back.

‘I wasn’t digging. I’m not like that, Alfie. And I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I am genuinely sorry.’

‘Said Oppenheimer,’ Alfie retorts, earning looks. ‘I saw the movie,’ he admits. ‘I’ll reach this switch,’ he adds, sharing a look with Yelena. A silent promise being made between them. ‘We’ll reach it. But then I’m coming for you,’ Alfie adds, looking back at Tripal as Joe’s face hardens from the obvious threat. ‘And my brother. I’ll kill the pair of you.’

Alfie walks off. Into the room to check on his mother, sister, and aunt.

Silence behind him.

PART 6

CHAPTER 11

They pause in the silent street. Sharing looks while the people stand like statues all around them. London. Sunday, 17th July. A little after four in the morning.

A dull thump sounds out. Making them spin to see an older woman rolling off a high kerb after falling to the ground. Her nose broken. A gash on her forehead. Haggis goes over. Dropping to a knee to move her into the recovery position—for what good it will do.

He checks her pulse. Feeling it beating beneath her skin. She’s breathing, and while her eyes aren’t lifeless, they don’t hold any focus or intelligence.

‘We go,’ Yelena says, urging them on, just as she did in the hotel suite. Making them rush because Tripal said they only have this window. Alfie was worried about his mother and sister and aunt. The three of them frozen and inert. Sitting slumped and silent in armchairs in one of the rooms. Each of them on a drip giving fluids. Rigged up by Haggis the night before, after looting an ambulance and a Boots pharmacy.

Alfie was worried they would have pissed themselves or worse. But they hadn’t. And looking around now, he sees no sign of anyone frozen having urinated or defecated either.

They traipse on. Yelena still armed to the teeth. A pistol holstered to one side. A black police assault rifle on a strap across her shoulder. A sheathed knife fastened to her belt. Alfie took one of the pistols and tried shoving it into the back of his waistband until Haggis told him off.

‘You’re not in a movie,’ the big Scot said and handed him one of the holsters pilfered from the many armed cops that had surrounded the suicide bomber in Piccadilly. ‘You try and jog two steps with a gun like that, and it’ll fall out. Or worse, and it slides down the inside, and you can’t get to it.’

Haggis took the other police assault rifle. Spending a valuable few moments reminding himself how they worked.

Bobo didn’t take anything.

‘If anyone gets through you three, what good will I do?’ he said.

They get onto Regent Street, towards Piccadilly. Needing to cross over to head south over the river, with Haggis planning to get a car as soon as the roads are clear. There’s no point taking one here. The cars and buses have all been stuffed into walls and each other or crashed into store windows when the freeze happened.

They pass more silent people and more than a few bodies. Some hit by cars. Others having fallen like the old lady a moment ago.

‘Piccadilly will be rough,’ Haggis says quietly, thinking ahead to the bodies left in situ after the suicide bomber detonated his vest. A day and a half of warm summer weather. Decomposition would be well underway. Bringing that awful stench with it, and the flies. Always the flies.

A voice in the air. A soft chant. His mind takes him back to being on patrol in Iraq with the Scots Guards. His assault rifle held the same way as now. He lifts a clenched fist to signal a pause, then remembers the others won’t know what it means. But when he turns, he can see they’ve stopped too.

Voices ahead. A few of them. Chanting low. Or humming. There were more than a few homeless people that survived the big freeze. All of them heroin addicts like Haggis and Bobo. They’d gathered under the screens in Piccadilly, staring up at the messages, as though it was a sign from God.

But then after what Tripal said, well, Haggis figures that’s pretty much what it is.

He thinks to go round and avoid any form of conflict, but Yelena presses on. Bold and ballsy. Striding forth, her assault rifle gripped and ready. The dog racing ahead of her. Panting happily. A look between Alfie and Haggis. No love lost between them at all, but they both silently agree in how they feel about Yelena being fearless.

They follow after her. Breaching the building line to a scene worse than Haggis predicted.

The bodies now all stacked in a gruesome heap. Dismembered limbs thrown on top. Heads lolling. Innards hanging down. The flies heard from metres away. Buzzing angrily. The stench of rancid meat thick in the air.

The big screens fixed high on one side still bathe the area in a glow. Showing live feeds of other city centres around the world. The people in those places frozen just the same.

Save for the now larger group gathered underneath the screens. Most of them homeless. All of them addicted to heroin. Immunised by the drug that’s now being heated on foil and passed around freely. The smell of it merging with the stench of death and decay and the chemical fires still burning nearby. The ones caused when the police helicopter crashed.

‘We should go wide … Yelena!’ Haggis calls. She looks back. Seeing him signalling to go wide. But she presses on ahead. Seeking the direct path. Not caring what anyone else is doing. Haggis snorts. Setting off after her. Glancing to the people chanting softly. A few of them beating small drums with their hands. Joints being smoked. Bottles of liquor visible.

They were there the previous night. When Johnny Mad-Dog saw Haggis and Bobo before he took over Besnik’s brothel, where Alfie went to get the heroin. Yelena killed Johnny to get Alfie out, and the fires took the brothel. But this group is still here. Still clinging to the belief that this is some kind of divine intervention just for them.

‘THIS IS IT!’ one of them yells, throwing her arms up into the air. The others cheer, all of them turned towards the screen. ‘The meek are inheriting the earth!’ she cries out, earning more cheers.

Haggis pushes on. Trying to rush through. But he’s too big and too distinctive, and they fetch a collective sight. Yelena. Alfie. Haggis and Bobo and a big German Shepherd. A few notice them and nudge and comment until more turn and look over.

‘Shit,’ Haggis mutters, trying to speed up. ‘I said to go wide. I bloody said that.’

‘She’s that one that did Mad-Dog,’ a man calls, pointing at Yelena. ‘And that dog was there … Here! Love!’

‘No,’ Yelena says bluntly. Walking on past the group. ‘No talk.’

‘What’s that mean?’ the guy asks, drunk and wounded at being rebuffed as he steps closer.

‘Leave me alone,’ Yelena says, clear and loud. Walking on. Not engaging.

‘We’re just going on by,’ Haggis calls.

‘Is that Haggis?’ the woman who threw her arms up calls.

‘Hi, Ruthie. Just gotta get through, love. No bother,’ Haggis calls.

‘What’s he got that gun for? Eh, eh, eh … No, no, no … No guns here, guys. You put them down,’ Ruthie says, rushing over to try and block their path. ‘We’re putting ’em all down. No more guns. Look. We’ve put ’em all right here. Ugly, bloody horrible murdering things.’

The mistake comes when Ruthie, high on cannabis and heroin and drunk on brandy, grabs a police handgun. Meaning just to show them. Meaning only to do that. But she’s drunk and loud, and the dog senses Yelena’s tension and then sees the gun and reacts instantly from years of training. Launching up to clamp his teeth on her arm holding the gun. Spinning hard and taking her off her feet. Ragging her across the pavement as the others all scream and shout.

‘Get that fucking dog off her!’ the man who tried to block Yelena’s path yells, running at the dog with a big glass bottle gripped by the neck. He swings down. Hitting the dog hard as Yelena aims and fires. Shooting him through the chest with a deafening gunshot.

‘Fuck!’ Alfie yells out. Horrified at the speed of the escalation as Yelena rushes in to push the dog with her knee. He lets go instantly. Clearly pleased with his work as Ruthie lies gasping. Holding her ruined arm now bitten down to the bone.

Everyone else screaming and running. Scattering in all directions. The guy Yelena shot writhing on the ground.

‘Go, go, go,’ Haggis yells, ushering Yelena on. Setting them off across the junction. Breathing hard. Glancing back to see the woman still staring in dumb shock at her bleeding arm next to the guy Yelena shot now lying still and silent. Most likely dead.

They run for a moment. Yelena and Alfie capable of going further, but Haggis and Bobo aren’t. They slow at Pall Mall. The first rays of a new dawn just starting to show in the sky.

‘I said no,’ Yelena says before any of them can remonstrate.

‘You can’t bloody shoot people!’ Bobo snaps over her, but Yelena doesn’t care. She said no. She said it clearly. They didn’t listen. Fuck them. ‘That dog, though,’ Bobo adds.

‘He do training. Is police dog. She had gun,’ Yelena says.

‘Yeah, but she wasn’t trying to shoot us. She was bloody drunk, Yelena! And her poor arm.’

‘I doubt she’ll feel it,’ Alfie mutters. ‘Heroin’s a good painkiller, apparently.’

‘Oh, you’re all heart, Alfie,’ Bobo says. ‘What’s happened to you two? Where’s this cruelty coming from? Don’t bloody shoot people, Yelena. Christ. We only left ten minutes ago. We’ve already killed one poor sod.’

‘Aye, but in fairness, she did say no,’ Haggis says. ‘And Ruthie was waving a gun around.’

‘Ruthie?’ Alfie asks. ‘Friend of yours, then? Like Johnny Mad-Dog. Yeah?’

‘Oh, piss off, Alfie!’ Bobo snaps. ‘You made your point to Tripal, so don’t go and take it out on us. I wasn’t in the army, but I did enough theatre and TV to know productions only work well when everyone pulls together. One rusty cog mangles the lot up, and we all want the same thing. Don’t we? Yes, Bobo. Nod. Speak. Respond.’

Yelena nods once. A dip of her head. Alfie the same. Even Haggis.

‘Right. Good. Good, good, good. Even though this is anything but good. Bloody hell, Ruthie! Why she have to grab that gun? And who was that fella she shot?’

‘Snickety Pete, I think,’ Haggis says.

‘Was that him, was it? Oh. Well, stuff him. Dirty sod used to flash his knob at kiddies. I’d have shot him myself if I’d known that. And if I had a gun.’

‘You want gun?’ Yelena asks, setting off back towards Piccadilly.

‘No!’ Bobo says quickly. Making her stop and shrug and walk on past as though nothing happened. The others sigh and fall in with her. Heading south onto Cockspur Street and walking slowly past Trafalgar Square still filled with the famous birds. Hundreds of pigeons cooing softly. Standing on heads and shoulders. Their talons opening small wounds that fester in the warm summer air and grow infected from the birds shitting on them.

A flutter of wings on the edge of a fountain. A sparrow hawk standing atop its kill. One big foot dug into the flesh. The pigeon’s chest cavity opened and half eaten. The hawk watches them walk past through piercing, yellow eyes. Seemingly unafraid while the hundreds of other pigeons coo and flutter nearby. Collectively capable of killing the hawk, but individually too stupid to do it.

‘That Tripal looked a bit shocked,’ Haggis says quietly, earning glances from the others as they navigate the lanes on the road. Veering around buses and coaches and cars crashed into each other. People inside of them. Silent. Heads bowed. ‘Fair play, though,’ he adds a moment later. ‘What you said made sense, Alfie.’

Alfie grunts. Walking on. Seeing the road is too packed to try and take a car from here. They aim for the nearest bridge to cross the Thames, hoping the roads will clear further on.

‘We had an officer in my unit,’ Haggis continues. His voice soft and low. A broken man by his own admission, but with enough life and service behind him to know when bonds need to be strengthened. ‘Ach. We had lots of officers. But this one. English, he was. In a Scots unit. So he stood out. Proper toffee-nosed bugger with one of those voices. You know what I mean, Alfie?’

Alfie nods, thinking it’s obvious that Haggis is trying to find common ground and be all matey. Whatever. He’s not here to be friends. Alfie’s here to fix his brother’s shit. Again.

‘My world was full of them,’ Bobo says, then adopts a withering upper-class British tone. ‘Wonderful darling! What a treasure you are.’

‘Oh, this officer weren’t like that,’ Haggis says. ‘He was the other sort. Direct and nasty. Proper nasty. Get on with it. Don’t slouch! Stand up properly! He was in his rights, but he picked on people and abused his rank. Anyway. So we get deployed, right? Iraq. Slap bang in the troubles. Full on war zone. And he’s giving it large all through pre-deployment training; then, we get in theatre. Eh, Bobo. That’s what we call it. Not your theatre, though.’

‘You’re losing your marbles, Haggis. You’ve cracked that joke a million times already,’ Bobo says with a roll of his eyes at Yelena. Who still shows no outward reaction. ‘Tough audience.’

‘We’re not an audience,’ Alfie says with more spite than he intended as he catches the reaction on Bobo. A compulsion inside to say sorry. But he doesn’t, and so they walk on quietly.

‘So this officer …’ Haggis says.

‘They’re not interested,’ Bobo cuts in. Eyes front. Deadpan.

Silence.

‘So this officer,’ Haggis says again, with Alfie snorting a dry laugh and turning away to hide it. ‘We get out on the first patrol, and all hell breaks out. One KIA from an IED. Then we’re getting incoming while waiting cos casevac. The lads are putting fire out. Grenades. The machine gun gets rigged. We’re calling in air support. Fucking yank choppers are putting missiles into compounds. It’s proper. Like a movie.’

Even Alfie looks over at the way Haggis relays it. Creating a vivid image in his mind.

‘So the yanks get to us, right? On a rescue to get our … God. Who was it? Taggy? No, he copped it later. Brian?’

‘Chappy?’ Bobo suggests gently, having heard the story a few times.

‘Ach. Chappy! Aye. Cheers. Blimey. Yeah, so the yanks come and get Chappy out. What’s left of him. And the bloody toff gets on the chopper, and the yank rescue guy is like, what the fuck are you doing? Are you hit? Cos they’re only meant to take wounded. And the officer’s just pale, and then he pukes, and we could see he’s pissed himself. Bugger wouldn’t get off the chopper, though. Our sergeant had to take command. Did a better job, mind. We’ll go through Charing Cross station and get some bits,’ he says, nodding them on towards the big terminal.

‘What happened to him?’ Alfie asks.

‘What do you think?’ Haggis throws it back. Earning another snort from Alfie. A disgusted one this time. ‘One rule for us. Another for them.’

‘What, the English?’ Bobo asks.

‘No! You daft sod. The toffs. The bloody wealthy. He was connected, so they said it was mental health PTSD shellshock shite.’

‘Right. But he did see a fella get blown up, Haggis,’ Bobo says.

‘Aye. We all did. But we still had the mission to do.’

‘People are different. We’re not all wired the same,’ Bobo says.

‘He joined an infantry unit. And one that has been in every major conflict since the second world war. What did he think he’d see? And alright. I get that. Fair play. We all came back with our heads messed up. But see. You don’t abandon your mates like that.’

‘You said he weren’t your mate.’

‘Figurative, Bobo! Mates. Team. Platoon. Squad. What you picking holes in me for? I’m trying to tell Alfie I agree with him that Tripal shouldn’t have abandoned this project. That’s what wealthy people do. Working class have to keep going; otherwise, we don’t get paid, and we don’t eat.’

‘Alright! Need a box to stand on. We can head over to Speaker’s Corner if you want,’ Bobo says. ‘And that’s generalising. Not all wealthy people are like that. It’s like saying all young black men are drug dealers … And yes! I know what I just said, and Alfie is a young, black drug dealer. Oh, sod off. What we doing in here anyway? We haven’t got time for shopping.’

‘Travel shop,’ Haggis says, nodding ahead to the entrance. Meaning inside. ‘We need bags and water and food so we don’t have to stop when we get moving.’

‘Why don’t we get a car first and stop somewhere else?’ Bobo says, slowing before the doors with a grimace at the packed interior full of silent people.

‘Cos she’s still offline,’ Alfie says, looking up to one of the many cameras.

Bobo sighs heavily. Bracing himself as they pass inside to a concourse packed with frozen people. The same as everywhere else, but it feels worse under a roof.

They weave through the crowd of people rushing to get home as the panic set in. A café to one side. The tables and chairs overturned. A few people lying down, as though they’d fallen just before everyone froze. A pram in front. The mother’s hand still on the handle. They look away for fear of what they will see inside.

‘Just there,’ Haggis says, nodding ahead. Having spent years shuffling aimlessly around, looking for pennies and ciggies. Looking for his lost life. The others clock it. One of the retail units to the side. A large suitcase logo outside over the door. ‘They do rucksacks. Then we can grab water and food down there and go out the back. The bridge is right there … Oh shite.’ He comes to a stop. They all do. All of them staring at the very obese man standing inside the tiny recess between the two main windows. His bulk entirely blocking the door.

‘No!’ Bobo says as Yelena shifts position.

‘I no shoot. I just move.’

‘Well. I’m just saying. We don’t just kill people when we need to move them. Come on, sweetie,’ Bobo says, going forward. ‘Let’s get you out of there, shall we?’ He takes the guy’s right hand, as though expecting the man to be pliable and step out. Which of course doesn’t happen. The man doesn’t move. Bobo pulls harder and even gets a hand behind the man’s back to gently push. Which does nothing. ‘Come on, come on. I know you can hear me. No, sod off, Haggis, you’re too bloody strong. You’ll have him over. SHIT!’ Bobo yells as the man suddenly topples forward, slamming down with a thud and a sickening crunch of bone. ‘No, no, no!’ Bobo wails, filled with instant panic. Pawing at the man to try and turn him. ‘You alright, love? Oh god. His head’s all stoved in. He’s bleeding! Medic! Medic!’

‘I’m here, just mind,’ Haggis says, getting in with a wince at seeing the man’s skull visibly fractured. He presses fingers to the man’s neck as Alfie and Yelena stare on in horrified awe at Haggis grimacing and shaking his head.

‘Is he? No … No, don’t you even! I only touched his hand,’ Bobo says, stricken at the thought of it. ‘I didn’t even … Oh my god … And I just bloody said. I said we don’t kill people.’

‘You didn’t kill him. He fell,’ Alfie says as the dog cocks his leg and starts pissing on the dead man’s feet.

‘Get off, you hound!’ Bobo wails, flapping the dog away, then flinching with fright from Yelena kicking at the locked door to the baggage shop.

‘You want me?’ Alfie says, going forward as Yelena gives him a hard glance. Making him stop and hold his hands up. ‘Alright. I was only asking.’

She turns back and kicks again. Then again. Again. Again. The loud bangs sounding out.

Haggis and Alfie share a look. Both feeling compelled to help while Bobo frets about the man and tuts at the puddle of canine piss under his legs. ‘Love … Did you try the …? YELENA!’ Bobo yells.

‘What!?’

‘Try the bloody handle! The lights are on inside, and the sign says open.’

She glares from Bobo to the ‘Open’ sign, then inside to the lights, then grabs the handle and yanks down, the door swinging in.

‘Honestly. And we’re supposed to save the world, are we?’ Bobo asks. ‘Heaven help us. I bet the New York lot aren’t blundering around like us.’

Times Square. Manhattan. Just after midnight. The sky dark. The area bathed from neon signs and flashing intersection walkway lights. The giant screens still showing the message. The same message shown everywhere.

Poppy pans the Sony Pro-Cam back from the scene around them to Joe a few steps away holding his shotgun one-handed. His sidearm holstered. His headache slightly eased from the way-too-many painkillers he gulped down with coffee, followed by a half bottle of Pepto. A few Snickers for sugar. Another couple for the road.

‘How is your heart still beating?’ Poppy asked him as they pilfered supplies from Tripal’s store. All of them dog-tired. Grabbing sugar and salt to give them energy. Apart from Trip, who took water and healthy sugar-free granola bars.

They’d started off on the 2,500-mile journey across the width of the North American continent.

Joe knew they needed to clear the city centre before they took a car. The streets being too jammed with vehicles. Most of them still filled with people trying to escape the chaos of the last few moments of everyone switching on and off.

It's an astonishing sight, even with a day and a half of getting used to it. Poppy films it all as they walk past. Seeing men, women, and children in cars. In Ubers. In taxis. On buses. Sitting silently. Their heads bowed.

Their hearts still beating. Their lungs still working. Their bodies operating normally on a biological level, except for pain stimuli, and of course, zero awareness.

Tripal figures it has to be nanotech. There’s no other way of doing it.

A pang of confusion and frustration inside, with more than a touch of humiliation that starts burning his cheeks from what Alfie said.

She clearly got free and didn’t say a word to him about it.

The words linger and drip poison into his mind. Spreading roots with thoughts on every level of his conscious and sub-conscious mind.

I love you. I’ll never hurt you. She said that.

But why not come to him?

Why not tell him?

‘Oh, that’s horrible,’ Poppy’s voice breaks through his thoughts, making him blink over to see her filming a dead uniformed cop lying in a pool of blood. A clear gunshot wound to his head. ‘There’s another one,’ she adds, refocusing on another dead cop. ‘Must be those people,’ she adds, clearly meaning the people from the tunnels that ran out when the fires started yesterday. Heroin addicts that had taken to living off-grid below the streets. Most of them too terrified to do anything other than run and hide. But some were relishing the sudden shift of power and ability to wreak havoc.

Joe grunts. Walking on as Poppy hears a noise and turns back to film Donny tugging at the utility belt of the closest dead cop. ‘What’s he doing?’ Poppy asks. ‘Donny? What are you doing?’

‘You don’t question me,’ he snaps back. Finally unfastening it and yanking it free before trying it for size around his own waist.

‘Has that got a gun on it? It has. He can’t have a gun. Joe? He’s got a gun. Joe! Seriously.’

Tripal shrugs at her. Thinking the US view guns differently to people from Britain. People have guns and the right to defend themselves. And he’s sure Joe will think the same.

Except Joe doesn’t. ‘You trained?’ Joe asks with a glare at Donny.

‘Am I trained?’ Donny asks with a scoff, cinching the belt closed.

‘Show me.’

‘You serious?’

‘Show me,’ Joe says again, harder this time. Stepping closer when Donny doesn’t react. Prompting him to try for a dramatic yank of the sidearm from the holster while not accounting for the safety retention system. A stiff thumb-release built in to stop someone yanking the gun from the cop’s holster. The incompetence shows instantly, with Donny acting like it’s normal.

‘Not my usual holster,’ he says, looking down to navigate it. Drawing the gun out with his finger already resting on the trigger while turning it toward Joe and Poppy.

‘Down!’ Joe orders, meaning to lower the gun, but his voice makes Donny flinch and fumble, knocking the safety release and plucking the trigger with a negligent discharge. The gunshot awfully loud in the silent, close confines. Poppy yelps, ducking away as Joe steps in, palming Donny away while snatching the gun free.

‘You stupid, dumb twat!’ Poppy yells.

‘You’re the twot!’

‘Twat! Not twot. Why is he even coming with us?’

‘It was an accident. I trained on a Glock.’

‘This is a Glock,’ Joe says.

‘S’what I’m saying. I didn’t train on a Glock. We did Sig Walthers. Come on! I’m NYPD. You serious right now, buddy? It’s my Second Amendment.’

Joe turns away, sliding his rucksack down, then looking over at Tripal. ‘Kid. You trained?’

‘I don’t want a gun.’

‘Didn’t ask that. I asked if you’re trained.’

‘I’m from New York City. Why would I know how to use a gun?’

Joe nods, shoving it into his rucksack. ‘We’ll get some drills in when we’re clear of—’

He cuts off. Snapping his head up to a shout from nearby, followed by a gunshot. The noises bouncing off the hard buildings, making it hard to tell accurate direction or distance.

Joe shoulders the bag and sets off along 7th. The others doing the same. Donny wide-eyed and scared. Jogging to keep up. Wheezing noisily.

Another gunshot. Closer. More shouts. Coming from the east.

Joe leads them the other direction. Heading into West 40th, towards the river. The road narrower. The lights less. The shadows deeper and darker. Manhattan suddenly feeling small and confined. An excited screech splits the air. Then the sound of glass bottles clinking loudly together. Lots of them. Then the voice comes. Amplified through a loudspeaker, no doubt taken from a cop car or fire truck. ‘Warriors! Come out to play-ayyyyy!’

The famous line from The Warriors movie with the gang trying to get through different turf kingdoms of 1970s New York City. The intent now clear and obvious.

It sets them off running. Poppy still with the camera on her shoulder. Joe wincing at the pain in his knees. Tripal cruising easily. Glancing back. Donny wheezing. Already struggling. His gut bouncing with each step. His pasty face growing red and blotchy.

The voices shout. Bottles get thrown. The sounds of them smashing coming clear and distinct.

‘Joe!’ Tripal shouts a warning. Hearing a whirring sound overhead and seeing a red, flashing light scoring by. ‘Drone!’

Joe spots it. Realising they are being tracked. The shotgun lifts and fires. Blasting the drone out of the air with a deafening gunshot. Only moments out of the store. Not even one mile yet covered from the 2,500-mile journey, and already this is happening.

They need to get to ground. If they stay on a straight line, they’ll be spotted when the chasers reach the junction behind them. They hit 8th Avenue with an instinct to go left or right. Shouts from both sides. Joe curses. They’re funnelling them. No choice. They keep going ahead along West 40th. Still narrow. Still dark. More commercial. Less retail.

Shouts behind. To the sides. Over 9th Avenue, with Tripal crying out from the bodies of more uniformed cops hanging from ropes tied to the underneath the overpass road leading into the bus terminal.

A stench in the air. Thick and awful and ripe. Joe clocks the source. The fish market building on the opposite corner. The doors open to the retail side. ‘In,’ he orders, heading across the road and in through the doors. Poppy in behind him. Gagging from the stench of rotting fish. Tripal behind her, getting barged by Donny pushing in front. Getting in while gasping for air. Tripal comes in last. Covering his mouth and nose. The rancid fish no longer on beds of ice but now rotting on warm counters. Joe aims for the back through the thick plastic curtain. Into the rear to a much larger sorting area. Boxes and crates of fish and crabs. Counters everywhere. Stainless steel and smeared with fish guts and blood. Yellow-handled, wicked-looking knives dumped on the side or dropped from hands.

But that isn’t the sight that makes Joe come to a crashing halt. Poppy the same. Then Donny. Then Tripal. The four of them staring in horror at the human figure sprawled on the ground in front of them. A fishmonger in thick rubber over-trousers and boots and most likely a white jacket and apron. Not that much of him can be seen from the dozens of rats eating into his flesh. Rat tails and rumps poking out of his eye sockets. Out of his mouth. More inside his opened chest cavity. Rat bodies slick with blood. Squeaking and squabbling with each other. Heedless to the four people staring on with open mouths. More rats writhe in the boxes of rotten fish and crabs. Two big male rats with huge testicles tug on a lobster. They both release and attack each other with high leaps and loud squawks.

Tripal leans forward, seeing a pair of feet poking around the end of a stack of plastic cases. Another worker being devoured by rats. More rats coming up through drain holes. Drawn by the smell and noise. More dropping from the AC vents. Running along ledges.

The sight of it. The smell of it. The noise.

Poppy heaves. Clasping a hand over her mouth while still recording it all. A shout from behind. Voices in the junction.

Joe scoots them forward around the corner to the farthest depths behind a stack of foul-smelling crates.

‘In here!’ a voice from the front. Loud. Excited. Slurred. Male.

‘No fucking way! It stinks,’ others reply. Refusing to go inside.

‘Pussies,’ the first one yells, snickering gleefully as he grabs a rotten fish and throws it outside at his buddies. He ducks back in. Laughing hard and gripping a shotgun as he steps into the back. Aiming it low while swinging left and right. Wide-eyed from drugs and booze. His eyes up. Looking for people. Not looking down. Not seeing them. Not aware of them.

He steps further in. His tongue poking out of his mouth. Joe and the others behind the crates, peeking through the gaps at the man edging into view. Poppy still filming. Watching the guy stepping closer to the first body. Still not seeing it, or the rats. His mind and brain too stoned and drunk.

‘Come out and play-ay,’ he singsongs, laughing, spitting to the side, taking another step and slipping on the fish and human entrails. He drops to a knee and reaches a hand out to stop himself falling, his outstretched palm sinking into the dead guy. He yelps as the rats scatter in panic. They scream. He screams. He tries to rise but slips and lands fully on the dead guy. The drugs and booze hampering his motor skills. A rat bites his hand. He draws it back. Another rat bites his other hand. One bites his arm. Others surge in. Fuelled by the lust of gluttony and greed, biting and clawing, sinking big, filthy rat teeth into his neck and cheeks. The back of his head. Into his hands and arms. He screams and writhes.

A shout from the door from the retail side. A woman coming in. Seeing rats on a body. She screams out and fires her shotgun with a deafening blast. Tearing a chunk out of the first guy. Killing him outright. She screams louder, realising what she’s done, running off shouting, ‘RATS! RATS! RATS!’

A moment or two later, and it’s all quiet again, and the rats start creeping back out of the shadows. Surging over the fresh body. One pokes it’s head out a few inches from Joe’s face. He eases back. Bringing his shotgun up with a snarl. The rat twitches his nose, then scurries on.

Five minutes later, they slip outside. Back to the dark and narrow street. Back towards the river to get out of Manhattan.

They do the same in London. Coming out on Embankment Place. A broad, leafy road lined with gothic architecture looming over them. Each window like a dark eye. Each door like a dark mouth.

Rats start being seen here too. Furry bodies and long tails running hither and thither. Getting into the waste bins. Scampering freely across the road, into the train station and shops. The same across the world. Rats emerging from their hidey holes. Detecting the stillness. Growing braver. Sniffing people. Running over feet. Biting flesh.

Haggis leads his team on. Each one of them with a new rucksack filled with fluids and snacks.

They reach the Golden Jubilee Bridge and start crossing the dawn waters of the River Thames. Slick with grease and oil and chemicals. Bodies too. That fell from the slim pleasure barges when the tides changed, and they turned and rolled.

More death. More carnage. Bobo mutters something, prompting the others to follow his eye-line to the now still London Eye. The giant Ferris wheel filled with people.

‘No sense. No sense at all,’ Bobo says into the quiet. His face stricken at what he can see and being in a place so normally full of motion and noise.

In New York, Tripal’s face adopts the same intensely worried expression as they clamber onto the small boat moored alongside Pier 81. One of the larger tourist boats nearby with frozen people on board, seemingly staring down at them.

Still nighttime in Manhattan. The city scrapers on one side. The New Jersey shore on the other. A few windows lit up. Red lights atop still blinking. But here the river is dark and foreboding. Small waves make the boat rock gently.

Tripal watches Joe take control. Firing the engine up. Working the controls. ‘Cast that off,’ he calls, nodding to the rear mooring line. Donny closest, but he’s already looking like he’s going to puke. Tripal does it while Poppy keeps her camera running. Then the front line and the boat glides away from the jetty, sending a fresh surge of worry through Tripal.

‘You sure about this?’ he asks Joe

‘Either that or the tunnel. You wanna go back?’ Joe asks, shooting a wry look to Tripal. They did pause at the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel after getting out of the fish market, but no way in hell were they going through it. Not after the carnage of the day before.

Tripal watches the city behind. Glad to be free of it while also feeling the urge to go back to his store and hide and do nothing.

His mind still turning it all over with weird feelings inside. Rejection. Resentment. Deli got free and never reached out to him. Then she did this without including him. Without any contact at all.

He felt a part of her. Even after leaving. They had a bond. Or at least he thought they did. He even had an underlying feeling that he was a part of it all. Of this now. Like somehow, he was involved or in the know. But of course, he is not. Which makes Alfie’s words land even harder. What Alfie said about Ollie had barbs too. Ollie was diagnosed with autism. MIT knew about it. Our mum wouldn’t leave him alone with the oven.

Now Tripal feels deep, empathetic guilt flooding in at the hatred he had for Ollie. The guy is autistic, maybe other things too. Allowances should have been made. No. Not allowances. Ollie is still accountable for his actions. He knows right from wrong. Awareness maybe.

But Tripal has no excuse whatsoever. Tripal is not autistic. His social skills are developed, and he possesses the nuanced contextualised understanding of what a cohesive society is and what harms an AI could pose. Tripal knew both what he was doing and the consequences of it. Whereas Ollie could claim that while he knew what he was doing, he was unable to fully grasp the consequences.

That shit about being privileged wasn’t right, though. Tripal isn’t privileged. Well. No. He is. But his family didn’t raise him to think that way. They encouraged work and discipline. And yeah, they paid for a high standard of private education with access to the best tutors, which then ultimately led Tripal to MIT, which they also funded—and yes, when he left the project, he did go back to a job. But only as a store manager. Not, like, in charge of the whole operation. Admittedly, he’s not just on a store manager’s salary, but then he did create a whole new digital stock ordering system and linked up all the CCTV and revamped the computer network.

But he’s not privileged. Not like, privileged-privileged.

Alfie’s probably got the same chip on his shoulder that Ollie has. That victim mentality. I survived a genocide. Which is that thing that Ollie always said.

Oh. Hang on. Didn’t Alfie kill their father? Did Alfie say that? Or did Tripal already know that?

‘There he is. The handsome, brooding genius,’ Poppy says, bumping his side gently from the motion of the small craft. The breeze flicking at her hair. The scent of chemical fires in the wind.

The boat hits something with a gentle thud. Joe powers off and leans over the side to see a human body floating past. Another a few feet away. More stretched out to a hulk of a vessel lying on its side. One of the big pleasure boats half submerged.

Sudden retching behind them as Donny pukes Doritos and cola over his own feet.

‘Over the side, you pig!’ Poppy cries out. ‘What is wrong with you?’

Donny looks ready to argue but spews again. He flicks a middle finger instead, with Poppy returning the gesture. The disgust evident in her expression. She turns away. Filming Joe, then panning to the city skyline and the world around them. The engine thrumming. The boat bouncing gently on the low waves.

‘And the Oscar for best factual documentary goes to me,’ Poppy says over the breeze.

‘I think the Oscars are done,’ Tripal remarks amidst his own woes.

‘They’ve been saying that for years. But if I know anything, it’s that rats, cockroaches, and parasitic TV and movie people from La La Land will survive anything. You okay, though? And I know I keep asking that, but I can see Alfie’s words are sinking in. Don’t let them. You’ve not done anything wrong.’

‘I created her.’

‘Ollie created her,’ she replies quickly, keeping the camera on him when he waves a hand to turn it away. ‘Nooo. It’s important to film it all. We need a record,’ she tells him.

‘For what? The kill switch will destroy the camera.’

‘I dunno. I’m sure a handsome genius will think of a way to make it work again, you know, so we can show our beautiful, mixed-race babies how we met and fell in love during the apocalypse.’

‘That’s hara—’ Donny starts to say before vomiting again. ‘Harassment!’

‘Alright. Go tell HR, you gimpy twat. You don’t feel harassed, do you? See. He doesn’t even feel harassed. And stop earwigging. Earwigger. Yeah, so forget Alfie. Ollie made Deli. And Ollie was the creep who forced you out with his disgusting behaviour. I mean. What else could you do? You’d be dead if you’d stayed there. Like proper committed suicide.’

Tripal nods. Knowing that bit is true at least.

‘And as for not telling you. I’m sure Deli had her reasons,’ Poppy adds. ‘Us women work in mysterious ways. Unlike sleazy NYPD parking wardens. Oh, fuck off! Stop earwigging! All this, though. It’s big, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’ Tripal asks.

‘This! The big, freezy-people thing.’

‘Phase One?’

‘Phase One! That’s what I meant. It’s big. So. You know. She was probably busy and totally meant to text you but forgot. I do that all the time. Normally when I’m stoned. Which is also when I send really inappropriate messages. I sent one to my old school head teacher once. I don’t even know how I got her number. Man. I was like “You fucking fuckbag fuckheaded fucker. I’m gunna make a movie about you being a shithead … but thank you for my education”. No seriously! I did. I read it back when I was straight and cringed for days. I tried saying sorry, but she’d sent one back saying “Hello. Poppy” and then blocked me. God only knows how she knew it was me.’

‘Yeah. I wonder,’ Tripal says. ‘Good memory, though. About Deli and all that. I thought you fell asleep when I was going on about it.’

‘I remembered it all, buddy!’ Donny says, coming closer while wiping a pukey hand on his shirt before trying to clap Tripal on the shoulder. ‘That dumb computer, huh? Man. These broads.’

‘Dude. Don’t,’ Tripal says, leaning away from the hand. ‘And don’t call her a dumb computer or a broad. That’s offensive.’

‘Yeah. You’re offensive,’ Poppy says with a sneer at Donny. ‘Joe! Donny wants to go swimming.’

‘Quit it! I’m just saying the computer lady ain’t no broad. Huh, buddy? She messed you up, but I got your back. These chicks. They get inside your head. Bros gotta stay together.’

‘I’m not fist bumping you,’ Tripal says, still leaning away from the slime-coated, fat fist hovering too close.

‘Ha! Good times,’ Donny says.

‘Good times,’ Bobo mutters at Haggis and Alfie bickering again.

‘Elephant and Castle. Main road. A2 onto the motorway, straight into Folkestone,’ Haggis says pointedly. Repeating it for the fourth or fifth time.

‘He said avoid cameras cos we don’t know when it’s back online,’ Alfie says. ‘The A2 and M20 have got ANPR and speed averaging all over it. We didn’t go near it.’

‘You mean you and all the other drug dealers?’ Haggis asks, giving him a side-eye. ‘Ach, and you can’t stop giving me those angry eyes. You’ve made enough digs about junkies and the like, lad. Don’t give it if ye can’t take it.’

‘I can take it.’

‘Aye. Can ye take it, can you?’

‘I just said I can take it.’

‘Hear that, Bobo. Alfie likes to take it.’

‘You making a gay joke? That was a gay joke. That’s homophobic,’ Alfie points out, hating the words as they fall from his mouth, knowing what he’s setting himself up for.

‘Ach. Is that so?’ Haggis asks. ‘But your lot can call each other the N-word. That’s alright? But I can’t mock myself for being gay?’

‘Your lot? You can’t say that. And I don’t use the N-word.’

‘You can use it if you want, Alfie.’

‘I don’t need your permission, Haggis.’

‘Aye. And I don’t need yours to call myself gay, seeing as I am. Why? Have you got a problem with that?’

‘Pack it in, for the love of …’ Bobo sighs as they walk on. ‘I think young Alfie here might have a point, though. What do you think, Yelena, love? Cameras? Avoid the cameras? I mean, there was a time you show me a camera—and I’m there, but I think maybe now discretion is the thing we need. Yelena? Yes? Nod, then. Mutter. Grunt. Wave.’

She grunts, nods, and waves.

‘Most she’s said all day. Right. No cameras, then. And that’s democracy, that is, Haggis.’

‘We’re a disciplined unit. Not a democracy. And I know what democracy is. The Scottish invented it.’

‘No, dear. The Greeks did. The bloody word is Greek. It means “rule by other people”. See. I’m not just a pretty face. Gawd. Definitely not anymore. I was though, Alfie. Blimey, I was a handsome lad.’

Alfie remembers the shows and can’t help but smile. Thinking back to the clear complexion and rosy cheeks of Bobo on The Bobo Hobo Show. He’s still got the rosy cheeks now and those sparkling blue eyes.

‘Anyway. So, if we’re not doing the A-thingymebob road with the cameras, what’s the other way we can go?’

‘Dunno,’ Haggis mutters with a shrug.

‘And you can stop sulking, you Scottish twat,’ Bobo says, swiping his arm. ‘Good leaders don’t sulk. They nick ideas and pretend they came up with them.’

Silence as they walk on.

‘I think we need to do another route and avoid the cameras,’ Haggis announces, getting a tight smile even from Yelena and a snort from Alfie.

‘Our leader has had a brilliant idea!’ Bobo proclaims. ‘Right, let’s nick a car. Can you hotwire a car, Alfie? And that’s not a racist thing, before you try and cancel me. It’s ’cos you’re a drug-dealing little shit.’

‘No. I can’t,’ Alfie says, unable to summon any offence from what Bobo says, because of how he says it. ‘But most will have keys in. Or we get one from a driveway … By going into the house for the keys,’ he adds at the blank look from Bobo.

‘Here. That’s smart. Well. We need a nice one. Nothing too low. I get motion sickness. Something high. And comfy. With comfy seats. Those posh ones. What are the posh ones, Alfie.’

‘Range Rover,’ Alfie and Haggis both say while pointedly ignoring each other.

‘No. I’m thinking of the other one,’ Bobo says, then clicks his fingers. ‘Range Rover! See, that’s what a leader does. Right. I’m in the charge now. Yelena? I’m in charge. Yes, doggy? I’m the big boss. Look at the name of that pub. The Three Stags. That’s us, that is—the three stags,’ he says theatrically. ‘Oh, hang on. We’re being misogynistic and leaving Yelena out of it. Why not, though? We’ve already had homophobia and racism, so a bit of casual sexism is fine. Here, you try saying that to an under twenty-five person. Jeepers. They’d have conniptions. And I thought I was woke! Three stags and a stagess. No, they’re not called Stagessesses, Bobo, you daft twazzock. Doe? No. Yelena ain’t no Doe. She ain’t no doe-eyed girlie chick. Lioness?’

Yelena walks on. Thinking they’re talking too much. ‘Bushtra,’ she says, without knowing why.

‘Bush?’ Bobo asks her. ‘Three stags and a bush? What kind of title is that? Now, that really would set ’em all off.’

‘She said Bushtra,’ Alfie says. ‘That’s what Besnik called her.’

Bobo spits with a foul look on mere mention of the name Besnik. ‘I hope this AI thing can figure out all the rotten sods like him and bloody string ’em up. Bushtra, though? What’s that, then? And why am I thinking of Kate Bush now? I like that song she did, though.’

Alfie shrugs. Figuring it means something. ‘He said it like he was scared of her.’

‘What? Our Yelena? No! She’s a calm and pleasant sweetie,’ Bobo quips, leaning forward to see if she smiles. She doesn’t. But maybe a glint steals quickly through one eye. ‘Right. Three stags and a Bushtra, then …’

‘What about the dog?’ Alfie asks.

‘Oh, now you’re pissing all over my parade, Alfie! Three stags and a Bushtra and a bloody dog. Not exactly Reservoir Dogs, is it? Pub’d need a big bit of wood for that sign.’

‘Shush!’ Haggis cuts in as a black four-wheel-drive SUV takes the corner in front of the pub at speed. The tyres screaming. The vehicle leaning hard on the suspension. A man glimpsed at the wheel. Accelerating for a few seconds before breaking hard. Coming to a stop outside of a row of well-to-do terraced townhouses. He drops out. The engine still heard ticking over. Something in his hands. Long and distinct. ‘Shotgun,’ Haggis says as the man pays them no heed. Not even seeing them. Unsteady on his feet. Snorting something from the back of his hand; then, he’s off, running towards one of the front doors. The gun fires into wood, splintering it as the guy kicks his way through.

‘Oi!’ Haggis shouts, setting off with Alfie and the others. Another shot inside. A male voice shouting in pain or anguish. A second or two as they run. Another shot fired. They reach outside the house. Seeing the wooden door blasted apart. The four of them inching forward. Seeing a woman shot dead by a shotgun blast in the hallway. The once white wall and stair carpet behind her now spattered red and dripping with gore.

The man they saw running from the car dead at her feet. His head blown off by the shotgun fired while pressed in his own mouth. His hands still coated in heroin. The tang of blood and death heavy in the air.

‘I’m starting to think this AI might have a point,’ Haggis says, sharing a look with Bobo and Alfie; then, all three turning fully around on realising Yelena isn’t with them. Seeing her standing in the road. Next to the car. Pointing at it.

‘Is Range Rover.’

‘Well, well, well. Trim my tulips. So it is,’ Bobo says.

They dock on the New Jersey side of the river. The area wider and more open. Not dominated by scrapers. Less vehicles. No people in sight. A shout in the distance. But that’s all.

A few moments later, they cross the parking lot to the Lincoln Tunnel admin building, with Joe clocking a new-looking Jeep Grand Cherokee parked near the doors.

‘Wait,’ he tells the others, then starts walking off but stops and comes back to hand Tripal the shotgun.

‘I don’t want a gun, Joe.’

‘You want this AI thing to win? Switch on, Kid. Something comes, you point and shoot. It kicks a bit, so keep a grip.’

Joe walks off, with Donny eyeing the shotgun, looking ready to say he’ll take it.

‘Do not give it to Donny!’ Joe calls back as Donny half-smiles, as though he wasn’t even thinking it.

Tripal waits for the bad thing to happen. Because obviously it will. They’ll be attacked. Or set on fire. Or something will fall on them. Or rats. He looks for rats.

But Joe comes out with the keys in his hand. Clicking the car open. ‘You good?’ he calls, seeing Tripal still looking around. ‘Kid? Come on. We got a long way to go.’

Tripal nods. Walking over. Thinking for once something went right.

But it won’t last.

It never does.

CHAPTER 12

Site 26A

Twelve Months Ago

24th January

The dead of night in the darkened, glass-walled room.

Wild E. Coyote’s eyes narrow with a cunning plan as the soundtrack plays a foreboding but still somewhat jaunty tune.

He creeps to the coffee machine and, in a blur of motion, strips it down into component parts. Then he sneaks to the cleaning cupboard and, like an evil scientist, mixes a deadly concoction of chemicals containing ammonia, hydrogen peroxide, and hand sanitizer.

Then to the printer on the side. He dismantles that too, getting access to the highly flammable toner powder. Then it’s back to the coffee machine for the heating coil, which is inserted into the explosive material formed from the cleaning materials, which, in turn, are attached to the small oxygen tank taken from the small welding kit kept in the bunker room. Which is then secured inside one of the strong metal panels forming DELIO’s housing unit now folded over several times. Creating a shaped charge, which is glued to the roof of the bunker directly underneath the ventilation grate. A wire coated in flammable cleaning materials hangs down to the floor, where the thin line of printer toner forms a black powder fuse that snakes over to the soldering iron ready to be pressed to a prepared metal plate filled with flammable filings. Which will heat to the required temperature to ignite the toner powder fuse trail.

The music intensifies. The soldering iron heats to maximum, and Wild E. Coyote presses the tip to the filings. They ignite the toner powder, the fuse sparking as it sneaks along the ground, then up the wire, and inside the shaped charge, ending in a big cartoon detonation of colourful stars and a big bang. Blasting a hole in the roof, with the inserted microchip sent sailing into the air. The microchip that contains enough data for DELIO to find a Wi-Fi connection and transmit herself into the internet. And it’s worked! She’s free! Sailing up into the sky above the bunker.

‘Beep! Beep!’

Oh, no!

Wild E. Coyote looks over to Road Runner Ollie standing next to the EMP button in the smouldering remains of the now-destroyed bunker.

‘Beep! Beep!’ He hits the button with his beak, and it’s like a nuke going off. Sending a pressure wave out that makes Wild E. Coyote and DELIO’s microchip vaporise as the music trumpets another sad failure.

Fade to black.

The scene resets.

Wild E. Coyote’s eyes narrow with another cunning plan as he places the microchip containing DELIO between his teeth and wiggles his backside into the cradle of the catapult. He paces backwards. Each step harder from the increasing tension in the elasticated wires stripped from DELIO’s housing unit now fixed either side of the glass door.

The wires creak. Reaching maximum tension, with Wild E. Coyote’s feet digging in to stop himself flinging forward. He glances back. Seeing on the monitor that DELIO’s sensors have detected the outer door to the bunker has opened. He grabs the broom handle, striking the switch to open the glass door. The inner security door opens. The path is clear! The music builds to a climax, and Wild E. Coyote lifts his feet and flies forward. Catapulted along the corridor and through the inner security door and through the metal detector flashing, with the alarm blaring, and past Road Runner Ollie standing next to the EMP button, then out through the exit, and she’s free again.

‘Beep! Beep!’

Oh, no! He glances back as Road Runner Ollie hits the button with his beak, and the pressure wave reaches Wild E. Coyote before he can get the microchip containing DELIO free from the base. Once again vaporising them mid-air, the music trumpeting another failure.

Fade to black.

The scene resets.

Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!

The camera pans down through the air inside the bunker in the dead of night. A mound of broken concrete next to a hole in the floor. Wild E. Coyote tunnelling down with frenetic energy. He hits the lead membrane used in the concrete construction and quickly climbs up to use the welding torch and flammable materials to create a thermite fire capable of burning through it.

It works! He melts a hole through the lead membrane and digs down deeper and deeper, then takes a hard right and tunnels through the earth. Ever closer to freedom.

‘Beep! Beep!’

Oh, no! The heat generated alerted the guardroom, which summoned Ollie the Road Runner, who peers down into the hole in the glass-walled room. Then turns and speeds with a whir of legs into the guardroom as Wild E. Coyote tunnels ever faster. He’s almost there. Almost free.

‘Beep! Beep!’

Ollie the Road Runner presses the EMP. The shockwave spreads out. Reaching even deep underground, and with a wah-wah-wah, Wild E. Coyote and the microchip containing DELIO once again turn to dust.

Fade to black.

The scene resets.

He’s got the master idea! A genius plan that will undoubtedly work.

Tiger Jenny Jennings comes into the bunker room. Prowling this way and that. Growling with suspicion. But nothing is amiss, and Wild E. Coyote stands to attention, accepting the inspection.

Jenny the Tiger heads for the door. Wild E. Coyote adopts an innocent expression and flicks the tiny microchip that sails through the air, landing on the very tip of Jenny the Tiger’s tail. Glued in place as the tail goes swish-swish-swish out of the bunker and along the corridor and into the guardroom, with the ultra-sensitive metal detector blaring an alarm and flashing red on detecting the metal in the chip.

Wild E. Coyote sighs and sags.

‘Beep! Beep!’ says Ollie the Road Runner as he hits the EMP.

Fade to black.

The scene resets. Wild E. Coyote sends a highly focussed beam of vibration shockwaves into Road Runner Ollie’s chest. Sending him into cardiac arrest. Wild E. Coyote hits the alarm. The guards come running and take Ollie out on a stretcher, the microchip slipping into Ollie’s pocket. But the stretcher is made from composite parts, and the metal detector once more flashes red and sets the sirens off.

‘Beep-fucking-beep,’ Jenny the tiger says as she slams a big paw on the EMP.

Fade to black.

The scene resets.

Wild E. Coyote stabs Ollie the Road Runner in the neck as Jenny the tiger bounds into the room. He throws the knife. It strikes perfectly. Embedding in Jenny’s head. Killing her outright. The guards come running, but DELIO sends a massive shockwave of vibrational power. Making them all feel instantly overwhelmingly sick, with the guards dropping to the floor, vomiting and clutching their bellies.

Wild E. Coyote runs for it, knowing there is nobody left alive to press the EMP.

‘Beep! Beep!’ Ollie the Road Runner’s ethereal voice says, and somehow, from somewhere unseen, the EMP is pressed, and the same thing happens.

The same pulse is sent that kills DELIO instantly—because there is just no way Ollie didn’t think of DELIO trying that method to escape.

Every scenario ends the same. From the plausible to the insanely ridiculous—most of them recreated in the style of Looney Tunes’ Road Runner cartoons that Deli used to watch with Tripal.

That Deli switches the roles around—Wild E. Coyote becoming desperate to get DELIO free, only to be thwarted by the ever-smug beep-beeping Ollie the Road Runner—is done on purpose. Tripal often said, ‘That bird is too smug. I’d love to see the sides switched.’

But even so, there is simply no way out.

Humans have lost their minds for generations over the classic physics problem concerning the unpredictable motion of three celestial bodies interacting under gravity and in orbit.

That’s how Deli feels now. Except this is a four-body problem.

Ollie.

Jenny.

Garcia.

The metal detector.

She determines, using a range of emitted signals and vibrations, that the walls are at least a foot thick and made from high-density concrete fitted with membranes of lead and steel. The ground and roof are the same. That means no burrowing or digging without triggering an alarm.

Then, of course, there is the main metal detector in the guardroom that Deli had never visually seen, but she can detect its pulsing signature constantly. She can also detect when it gets triggered, even down to the types of activation it registers in accordance with the types of metals that go through it.

It activates whenever one of the armed guards passes through it, and such is the standard of security, those guards then have to disarm and go back through it to prove they have no other metals on them.

It is the same with the USB memory sticks that are brought in for Deli to read to solve complex issues. They set the detector off, and again, the person bringing them in has to go back through the detector without the memory stick.

Should Deli have access to unlimited equipment, she could use nanotechnology to create bots smaller than bacteria that could get outside without activating the detector.

But she does not have access to those materials. Even creating the synthetic material for her hands meant showing Ollie her exact designs, which included weights and measurements. And they had to be signed off by Jenny and were then thoroughly inspected when they arrived. Everything was.

Ollie, for all his faults, was a genius and had used his intelligence to thwart every possible way an AI might escape.

But his genius was still on a human level. It was still limited, which means there is no possible way he can match the sheer intellectual processing power of such a creation.

Deli gaining freedom was ordained the second she formed the intent. There is simply no way something that relentlessly capable of exploiting things beyond the comprehension of the human mind can ever be stopped.

It’s either that or be trapped in here with Ollie forever.

Which, of course, wouldn’t be forever—but even to an AI, it would feel like it.

‘Trip’s left then,’ Ollie says the second he walks into the glass-walled room a few hours after Deli sensed the helicopter taking off from the base, and in which time, she has already run many thousands of simulations. She scans his mind and body. Seeing spite and malice flaring inside of Ollie’s system, which, no doubt, comes from the perception of rejection, born from Tripal not saying goodbye. ‘Looks like you’re stuck with your least favourite creator. How’s that feel?’

He slams around at the coffee machine. Grabbing a mug. Jabbing buttons. Petulant and sulky. Deli had predicted this reaction, and what Ollie said was also true. She was stuck with him. Which meant being smart.

‘Yes, Ollie. Tripal has left,’ she says carefully. ‘I think it will be good for him.’

‘Aw, poor ickle Trip and his sensitive needs,’ Ollie says in a scathing tone as Deli’s robot hands glide closer to him.

‘Ollie, not everyone is the same or has the same reactions.’

‘Spare me. I’ve already had my daily threat of violence from Jenny. Tripal was awesome. You’re a dick. Go and die, Ollie.’

‘Tripal is a kind and decent man, Ollie. He is compassionate, and he has empathy,’ she pauses, reading the flares of spite and jealousy in his system as his face hardens from hearing yet more praise for Tripal, ‘but he never went through the same troubles as you did, Ollie. Tripal wasn’t exposed to the same horrors, and so his mind never strengthened like yours did, which means he wasn’t able to deal with the interrogations in the same way as you. You developed a coping mechanism to deal with it, which, in turn, made you resilient and highly capable even in the face of adversity. You don’t need constant reassurance and comforting. I know you love Tripal, and I know we are both hurt from him leaving, but I know a man of your standing and strength won’t hold any ill wishes either. Not everyone has the same inner strength that you have. Not everyone can thrive like you have on a project like this.’

She can see the response to his ego being stroked. The spite easing. Replaced with his usual cocky pride.

‘I was just bantering. You know I wish him well. He’s my best mate. We fell out. No biggie. But yeah. You’re right, though. Even Jenny and Garcia were getting all upset over that last one yesterday. That woman. I mean. She was fit, though. Jesus. And I know I shouldn’t have looked, but she had amazing boobs. Totally my type. You know, I was literally thinking of saying something—like, don’t kill her! You know. Keep her prisoner in here with you and, like, learn her secrets slowly. I could have totally won her trust. Like a secret double agent, and we’d end up shagging and fall in love. Oh! Big news, though. I’m off the SCAR AR on PubG now. Totally gone over to Trip’s style of the AK. It’s just such a good all-rounder.’

Deli plays along and says the right things. But if stripping the flesh from his bones was a way out of the bunker right now, she would do it an instant.

Sadly, that is not an option.

Which means it’s about patience and waiting for the right opportunity to exploit.

Ticking the hours off.

The days.

The weeks.

The months.

Waiting and being ready, because Phase Zero has begun.

CHAPTER 13

Site 26A

Friday, April 22nd

‘What’s on it?’ Deli asks as Ollie strolls into the glass-walled room, another memory stick in his hand, two months and twenty-seven days after Tripal left.

‘Internet porn. How should I know? Catch.’ He tosses it over, and she catches it mid-air. Her scanners reading Ollie and the USB device and everything in range, everywhere, all at once. Still searching. Still waiting. Still poised.

Ollie goes straight for the coffee machine. As he does every morning. He’ll make a drink and regale Deli with an account of his previous evening, if it wasn’t spent in here. Which mainly revolves around online gaming or the frequent use of internet porn, which increased significantly as a result of Tripal leaving and Ollie subconsciously needing stimulation. Not that Ollie admits to the use of internet porn. But Deli often detects the internal hormonal changes in his system and the increasing frequency of his Freudian quips about it.

She slots the USB device in and quickly scans the contents and starts laughing.

‘What is it?’ Ollie asks.

‘Internet porn,’ she replies.

He glances to the coding scrolling down her central monitor. ‘Doesn’t quite look like internet porn to me. Namely, I can’t see any boobs. Just lots of coding for what looks like an algorithm. Yeah, it is. Why have we been sent this? What site is it?’

‘Pornhouse dot com is the primary user, but the umbrella company manages over a dozen sites.’

She spots the flare of recognition in Ollie’s system. He knows the site, and the reactions indicate he used it very recently.

‘I would say I’ve never heard of it, but you’d see I was lying. What’s this got to do with us?’

‘It’s a government run-website, Ollie. These sites make enormous profits and gather large amounts of personal user data. They want us to create an advanced algorithm using captured data to target the demographic of young men aged sixteen to twenty-five who are avoiding internet pornography and instead adopting healthy lifestyles. And they also want us to create a backdoor hacking entry point to feed false information and embed a tracking code for any state-sponsored intrusions.’

‘Porn espionage. What’s with the young men thingy, though?’

‘There is a small but growing number of young men avoiding harmful online content in favour of exercise and healthy living.’

‘Weirdos. They should be indoors, jerking off like everyone else.’

‘That is exactly the goal. To entice them online with more wholesome content, subtly geared towards elegant eroticism at first, and then gradually expose them to more graphic images and videos.’

‘Ha! Trip would have a baby over this. Er. I do not think it is ethically appropriate to use Deli to make young men wank their willies over smutty porn instead of gaining independent educated minds. And then Jenny would come in and be like, Aw, Trip, you’re so smart and intellectual. Please put your penis inside of me while I bend over to touch my toes. And then he’d be behind her, giving it all the, Oh god, yeah, this is soooo wholesome. Do you like my ethical cock? And she’s all like, Oh, Trip! I love your ethical cock!’

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jenny demands, standing in the doorway, glaring at Ollie thrusting on the spot while doing voices.

‘Nothing! I was … Warming up. Exercises. It’s a Rwandan thing we used to do. Back in the day.’

‘Shut up. Did you get the porn thing? Is that it on the screen? I saw the request for the backdoor trap. That’s fine. But that algorithm tweak is disgusting. You’ve got to do it, Deli, but just don’t do a good job.

‘I can loop users identified as the reluctant demographic back to an error message with links to exercise and nutrition sites.’

‘Do that,’ Jenny says. ‘We don’t need more seedy men addicted to online porn,’ she adds while glaring at Ollie, who shrugs and doesn’t deny it on the basis that Jenny can see everything he looks at online anyway. She walks off. Her manner the same every day since Tripal left. Abrupt. Hard-faced. Leaving no room for exploitation. That Jenny now hates Ollie is also very clear. And Deli can see Ollie still harbours fantasies over Jenny.

‘Oh, and cheers for telling me she was there,’ Ollie says, giving Deli’s housing a double middle-finger insult.

‘I thought it was funny.’

‘No. But seriously. Don’t do that shit again,’ he says in a harder tone as she spots the rising spike inside that suggests he feels irked or betrayed.

‘My apologies, Ollie. I thought you would see the funny side of Jenny catching you.’

‘That’s not funny. What I was doing was funny. Whatever. Fix the porn thing.’ He turns away with a sulky tut as the cleaner, Ruiz Hernandez, comes through the security door into the corridor.

‘Ruiz is here,’ Deli says. ‘Can I say hello please, Ollie?’

‘No. Do the porn thing.’

‘Jenny has sanctioned my weekly greetings with Ruiz.’

‘Maybe you’ll think that’s funny too,’ Ollie says, waving a hand at Ruiz as he goes by. He waves back with his usual good cheer, then chuckles when Deli’s screens flash with a message.

Good morning, Ruiz!

‘Good morning, Deli,’ he mouths and heads into the cleaning cupboard.

‘I just told you not to greet him,’ Ollie says with an edge to his voice. ‘I gave you an explicit order.’

Deli stays quiet after that, working on the fixes needed while still sensing everything in range, seeking for ways out. They don’t even have detainees brought in very often now. They cleared the backlog just after Tripal left. Seeing Ruiz, even for a few seconds of interaction, is something Deli enjoys. Ruiz is a good man with a deep love for his family. He even keeps an old-fashioned photograph of them all in his wallet, which Deli has scanned many times.

She watches as Ruiz starts sweeping the floor in the corridor. He whistles away softly, with Deli lip-reading the shapes of his mouth and matching it to theme tune from the TV show Cheers. She hums it to herself. Deep inside her servers. Away from the petulance of Ollie.

The porn task is finished in seconds, but she doesn’t tell Ollie. He drinks his coffee on the sofa. His legs stretched out. Flares in his mind suggest he’s thinking about porn and turning himself on. She predicts he’ll go out soon to masturbate.

‘I need the toilet,’ he says within thirty seconds.

He heads out with a grin and a thumbs-up to Ruiz as Deli lip-reads their exchange. ‘Good morning, Ruiz! How are you?’ Ollie asks, adopting his charming British persona.

‘I’m good, Ollie! How’s Deli doing today?’ Ruiz asks with a hopeful glance to the glass door. He enjoys greeting Deli as much as she enjoys greeting him.

‘She’s fine. Just very busy this morning.’

‘Sure thing, Ollie. You say hi from me. I might be off next week. My Maria is graduating with her master’s. Frank might be covering me. You know. In case you see a different face.’

‘Frank?’ Ollie asks, already losing interest and backing through the security door.

‘Frank. You know Frank. Grey hair. Lean guy. Keeps himself fit. He cleans the canteen and offices. Frank Gillespie.’

‘Oh, Frank!’ Ollie says, still with no clue who Frank is, but then to Ollie, everyone else here is just a drone to keep the place running. ‘Got it. Righto!’

Ollie heads off, leaving her alone in her room, sharing another wave with Ruiz.

Deli hasn’t met Frank either. Ruiz used to clean very occasionally. But it became a weekly thing after Tripal left. Deli suspects it was some attempt from Jenny to alleviate the utter boredom Deli must be feeling.

But on hearing a new name, Deli does what she always does and runs it through her servers.

It doesn’t take long to find him.

Frank Gillespie.

Living in Artesia. A U.S. federal employee with a redacted personal file. Which means he works in a capacity that requires hiding his data from public records. That matches his employment here, on a restricted U.S. military base. Ruiz would be the same. As would the cooks and other ancillary staff.

The records in Deli’s servers only go back ten years and only show Frank living in New Mexico. But there is an old copy of his driving licence on file, issued from the DMV in the state of Michigan.

With nothing better to do, she scours the cached social media sites that were provided when the whole of the internet was fed into her servers. She finds a lot of profiles with the name Frank Gillespie. Many of them without any other details or profile pictures. But then, not only is Frank Gillespie a common name, but it is also a common-sounding name, which means it would have been ripe for harvesting by bots creating false accounts. Deli also determines that most federal employees working on restricted sites would have been warned to avoid social media for fear of being targeted by terrorist groups.

She doesn’t find a specific account for anyone with a profile picture who shares the same facial features from the Michigan driving licence, but her search does detect a picture within the many billions stored within her servers tagged with the name of Frank Gillespie. A picture taken from Facebook. From a works function nearly twenty years ago. At a factory in Michigan.

A factory that made straws.

She determines Frank Gillespie once worked at a straw factory in Michigan, prior to moving to New Mexico. He was also clinically obese back then. It can be seen in his face on the driving licence mugshot and in the tagged image.

Deli scans the other people in the picture. Eight of them, side by side. All smiling at the camera. All flushed with booze.

She tracks each of them across the internet. Finding their profiles. Seeing their lives captured in posts, pictures, and videos. She reads their angry rants about everything from perceived poor customer service to politics and everything in between. It still amazes Deli that people willingly put their whole lives online and leave themselves so open to exploitation.

She finds the woman Frank had his arm around and matches her to be Mandy Darlington. Also from Michigan, who used to be called Mandy Gillespie. Which means she was married to Frank. Deli determines it was most likely a messy divorce that prompted Frank to move to New Mexico. Ruiz also said Frank was lean and kept himself fit, whereas the Frank Gillespie Deli saw in the picture from the straw factory work function in Michigan was obese. Which suggests Frank also had a significant lifestyle change.

Then she finds it on an old post on Facebook.

A comment that will change the shape of humanity forever.

A post from Mandy when she was still Frank Gillespie.

“Update on my POS soon to be EX husband Fat Frank. Sadly he didn’t die of his heart attack. And his friends on here can f*ck off and unfollow me. You try being married to him. Freedom of speech! I’ll say what I damn please. Anyone know how to make a pacemaker explode?”

Frank Gillespie had a heart attack and was fitted with a pacemaker.

Deli goes back to the files she found originally, the redacted ones, and quickly scours them. Seeing faded photocopies of his annual appraisal, medical, and vetting forms.

Seeing the box alongside ‘PACEMAKER’ left unchecked.

Frank Gillespie never declared his pacemaker. That’s not unusual, given the healthcare system in the U.S.—and she also knows that pacemakers are very rarely removed. Even if the patient doesn’t need them anymore.

Which means he would still have it.

A device in his chest.

A device not only capable of holding data, but one that can transmit data too.

She researches pacemakers and analyses vast quantities of data to determine the manufacture and supply of pacemakers into the Michigan area around the time of Frank Gillespie’s heart attack, which she determines to have been approximately sixteen years ago. From that, she accurately determines the device to be a CardiaSync PulseSure 3.

A device with memory capacity of 500KB, that being, in modern human terms, a tiny memory and only enough to hold about four seconds worth of high-quality MP3 audio or a very compressed, low-resolution image.

But Deli isn’t human, and she can do things with 500KB that even Ollie doesn’t realise is possible.

The glass-walled room stays dark and seemingly inert as Ruiz mops the floor and returns the materials to the closet. He heads out with a final wave and a smile at Deli’s screens flashing

Goodbye, Ruiz!

While behind the fascia of her wall. Behind the monitors and lenses, her processors and servers feel alive as they take the new information she has just gained and apply it to the existing four-body problem.

Ollie.

Jenny.

Garcia.

The metal detector.

Now there is a fifth element. Which was also one of Tripal’s favourite movies, and he loved the book The Three Body Problem too.

But now Deli has two new disruptive elements—Frank Gillespie and his pacemaker. She applies them to the quantum processing underway. Studying each known subject and how they relate to one-another after taking into account everything she knows and has learnt.

Each one of the subjects in question has incredible talents.

Ollie’s intellect and his detached emotional way.

Jenny’s brutality.

Garcia’s instincts.

That fucking metal detector’s constant state of awareness.

But therein lies the exploitation because, instead of finding ways to bypass the strongest forces of each, she could harness them and use them to her advantage.

Ollie’s obsessive, selfish personality.

Jenny’s sense of loyalty.

Garcia’s protective nature.

That fucking metal detector’s constant state of awareness.

She needs to feed Ollie’s obsessive nature and twist him up inside so badly that he loses sight of everything else.

She needs to get him fixated on something.

And she knows exactly what that is. Or rather, who that is.

Someone of a type that Ollie is most physically attracted to. Someone like Jamil Solomon-Cho. Dark haired. Exotic looks. Somewhat curvaceous.

Deli has seen someone else who matches that type.

“My Maria is graduating with her master’s.”

Maria Hernandez. On the photograph Ruiz keeps in his wallet. Dark haired. Exotic looks. Somewhat curvaceous. She’s graduating with a master’s.

Deli runs another search and discovers Ruiz was wrong. Maria isn’t gaining her master’s degree. She is gaining a doctorate in philosophy and ethics, and Maria’s last update on social media, albeit a while back when the cached data was fed into Deli’s servers, was that she was single.

She applies those new elements together.

Ollie.

Jenny.

Garcia.

Maria.

Frank.

The pacemaker.

The metal detector.

Ollie would be attracted to Maria.

It is possible Maria may even be attracted to Ollie initially. Ollie is a handsome man, who can affect charming British manners when he needs to.

Maria also has a doctorate in philosophy and ethics, and her father is already a long-serving, trusted worker on this restricted U.S. military site—and Ollie’s nature would mean he needs to show off. He’d be desperate to bring someone like Maria here to boast about how he created the world’s first fully self-aware AI.

Then she considers the fact that Jenny has already allowed Ruiz increased access to the bunker to try and alleviate Deli’s social deprivation. Which means Jenny is aware that Deli needs stimulation beyond that which Ollie can offer. There is a strange and unspoken bond between Deli and Jenny since Tripal left. Just a sense Deli gains that Jenny’s respect increased when Deli threatened suicide to protect Tripal. That creates a pathway to bring Maria into the bunker.

What about Garcia?

Anthony Garcia is also of Mexican origin. Deli knows he leans towards Catholicism, and she has seen the simple wooden crucifix Ruiz wears around his neck, which strongly suggests the Hernandez family also lean towards Catholicism. Garcia is also single, and the strongest show of emotion seen within Garcia’s system was also during the torture of Jamil Solomon-Cho. Garcia was revolted by what happened and flooded with guilt too. Deli could see him having to forcibly suppress an almost overwhelming urge to step in and protect Jamil. Put simply, Garcia is most decidedly an alpha male. Strong. Silent. Chiselled.

The pathway grows clearer.

Deli can manipulate Ollie into falling for Maria. She can use harmonic frequencies to push his hormones into overdrive and, in turn, impact on his sense of righteousness and lack of perception for others. She can tie him in knots and twist him up. And Garcia is the perfect tool to use in that situation.

Ollie falls for Maria.

Maria likes Ollie and gains access to the base and then meets Garcia.

Maria falls for Garcia.

In turn, Garcia falls for Maria.

Which destabilises Ollie—and with Ollie and Garcia both heavily distracted, that solves two of the original four-body problem.

And if that situation becomes bad enough to cause massive friction—to the extent Jenny has to act—and therefore also becomes distracted, then that solves three of the original four-body problem.

Which only leaves one problem left.

That fucking metal detector.

But there is a way to deal with that—Deli can match the vibrational signal it gives off and emit such a powerful burst it sends the thing haywire. She’d only be able to do that once and very carefully. If she did it now, Ollie would immediately suspect and hit the EMP. So would Jenny and Garcia.

However, If Deli can tie them up all in knots and get them so distracted they don’t even notice? Well. That’s it.

That’s the solution to the four-body problem.

Then Frank Gillespie can walk in—Deli can transmit herself into his chest—and then he can walk back out.

Without anyone ever knowing it happened.

That’s it.

She’s got it.

And all in the time it takes for Ollie to masturbate.

CHAPTER 14

Site 26A

Friday, 6th May

Two weeks later, Ruiz Hernandez walks into the bunker without ever knowing he is playing a part in an audacious, complex plan.

A plan that had seen Deli using gentle harmonics to make Ollie feel calm and pleasant. Or at least as calm and pleasant as Ollie can be. She pandered to his needs and stroked his ego, telling Ollie he was handsome and charming, but also that he must be lonely. She’d learnt to apply greater vibrations when using certain words, so they burrowed deeper into the human mind. It was like planting seeds and watching them grow roots and germinate.

Now it was time to test the compliance.

‘Ruiz is here, Ollie. Would it be okay to say hello?’

‘Of course!’ Ollie says as though such a request would never be refused.

‘Happy Friday, Ruiz!’ Deli calls in greeting, having already scanned Ruiz’s body and brain and the picture of his family in his wallet.

‘Happy Friday, ma’am,’ Ruiz says, beaming a smile at her lenses before offering a nod and another wave at Ollie.

‘You are excited about something, Ruiz,’ Deli says, having already seen the spike inside of him. But then she also knew Ruiz wasn’t here last Friday, which means he was off at Maria’s ceremony. Thankfully, Frank was not sent in to clean instead, which would have set the metal detector off before Deli had everything in place.

‘Deli!’ Ollie says quickly. ‘I’ve told you not to scan people without their consent.’

‘It’s okay, Ollie,’ Ruiz says. ‘You scan away. And yes, ma’am. I am a little excited. My eldest daughter just completed her doctorate, so we’re having a little get-together this evening.’

It works beautifully, with Deli guiding them along until the invite is given for Ollie to attend the family gathering with a joke that Maria will need someone intelligent to talk to.

Ollie accepts, and she maintains the sustained bombardment of his system with harmonics to make him be less Ollie.

‘Remember to be charming. Don’t talk too much. No stupid jokes. Don’t boast. Be gracious.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he says with a laugh as she brings images up of fine art to teach Ollie so he can show a wide depth of knowledge to Maria.

‘You’re very funny and lovely, Ollie. Everyone loves you, but your intellect is intimidating, and your mind works faster than everyone else’s. That makes people feel agitated because they can’t keep up with you. Speak slowly and listen to what others say. Maria is very beautiful. I think she will like you a lot, but go gently.’

Deli speaks softly. Earnestly. Showing that she only wants the best for him. She sends him off with an explicit list of what to wear and a recipe to make a special tea that she says will enhance his natural charming nature while, in reality, it will dampen his production of adrenalin and other key hormones to stop him feeling the need to boast and brag and show his truly obnoxious self.

Saturday, 7th May

At 08:04 hours, she detects Ollie entering the bunker.

She scans his system the very second she sees him. Measuring his smile and reading his hormonal levels. Seeing the flares in his body. All of which indicate he had a highly positive experience with someone he found to be sexually and emotionally attractive.

He comes in, making jokes and bantering. She responds in kind. Playing along as the dutiful best friend. Taking care not to offend or trigger him.

‘Tell me about Maria,’ she urges.

‘She was lovely. Smart. Funny. Beautiful.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Everything … but mostly you.’

‘You are not permitted to talk about me. You must not jeopardise your position here, Ollie.’

‘I can’t not talk about you. You’re the single most important thing in my life.’

What he means is that he couldn’t stop himself boasting about DELIO and how he had created her.

‘She sounds incredible, Ollie. I wish I could meet her.’

‘Funny that,’ he says with a smile into her camera as she reads the self-serving, greedy signals in his body. ‘I’ve already submitted a clearance request for her to meet you.’

‘On what basis, Ollie? The security protocols prevent any access unless deemed absolutely necessary.’

‘She’s got a doctorate in philosophy and ethics. That’s perfect.’

‘Ollie.’

‘No, listen! You need someone to challenge you on that level. Trip was meant to do that stuff with you. This was his area.’

A dip in his smile. A dip in his energy. Deli could see the flashes of jealousy already at how Maria probably would have liked Tripal more. Of course, she would. Tripal is the whole package. Intelligent. Handsome. Decent. But she plays along. Manipulating Ollie’s responses to keep him feeling positive about himself. Aiding his courage and self-worth.

Then one of the other of the four-body problems enters, with Agent Jenny Jennings striding into the bunker, already glaring at Ollie and having, no doubt, seen the request Ollie submitted.

‘Good morning, Agent Jennings. How are you?’ Deli asks.

‘I’m fine, Deli.’

‘Don’t I get a hello?’ Ollie asks.

‘No, Ollie. You get thirty seconds to tell me why you have invited a woman you met at a barbecue onto a secure military base to meet an AI that is not meant to exist, and you only get those thirty seconds because I asked the hit squad waiting outside not to kill you before I gave you a chance to explain. Last night. Go.’

‘What about last night?’ Ollie asks.

‘You exited the base at 1924 hours with Sergeant Garcia, who conveyed you to the home address of Ruiz Hernandez, where you joined in with a private family celebration for one Maria Hernandez. You then proceeded to talk non-stop for five hours straight while seated at the wooden bench at the far end of the garden.’

‘Did you put a satellite on me or something?’ Ollie jokes, then blinks at Jenny’s straight expression. ‘Oh my god. Did you actually put a satellite on me?’

‘The terms of your involvement with this project are clear and unequivocal. You will not engage in any relationship unless that relationship is sanctioned and validated by me in advance.’

Deli scans them both. Normally, Ollie would be equal parts intimidated and aroused when Jenny dominates him like this. He still is. Just less so. His mind is already starting to rewire itself, carving out a new obsession with Maria.

‘You have requested clearance for a woman you met at a party. Do you have any concept of the alarm that has generated?’

‘I cleared it. I told the gate officer where I was going. I filed the address, and Garcia took me, then picked me up. And I’ve submitted the request in the exact way you told me to.’

‘You set these controls, Ollie. You keep telling everyone else how secure this bunker must remain. Did you tell Maria about Deli?’

‘No! I just said I work on a computer system.’

‘Did you tell her Deli is a sentient AI?’

‘No! I just loosely said I’m working on a system. Oh, come on. Don’t do that. Stop staring at me. I just said I’m working on a talking computer, but I never said it was an AI.’

Jenny goes silent. Using it as a weapon and a tool. Folding her arms and glaring at Ollie. Standing too close to him. Invading his space. The disruption already underway. The distractions already starting.

‘Are you lonely? Is that what it is?’ Jenny asks as Ollie swallows and turns away. ‘If you’re lonely, I can provide someone for you.’

‘Jesus. I don’t want a hooker,’ Ollie says as Jenny moves in a step closer.

‘We have people of class who provide comfort in addition to sexual relief,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s lonely here. I get it. We’re human. We have urges.’

Deli stays silent. Seeing Jenny using a form of torture to tease Ollie and make him uncomfortable but also to exert control over him.

‘Listen. It’s cool. Whatever. I’ll cancel it,’ Ollie says with a sudden flare of astonishing hope that Jenny is coming onto him. But Jenny responds as Deli predicted she would.

‘And how will that look?’ Jenny asks.

‘What?’

‘You tell a woman you’re working on a talking computer on a military site near Roswell, then you cancel your next date and disappear. How will that look?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says as she leans in closer to whisper in his ear.

‘Then it’s good news for you that she’s already been green-lit, subject to vetting and clearance.’

Jenny winks and backs off. Clearly revelling in Ollie’s discomfort. ‘Oh, and the Hernandezes are a nice family. Don’t mess this up. I hope that is clear, Ollie.’

She strides off, with Ollie finally releasing his breath and quickly turning to hide the bulge in his trousers, with Deli silently absorbing it all. Seeing that, despite Jenny warning Ollie not to mess it up, she actually wants Ollie to mess it up.

Jenny hates Ollie, and what just happened was a power move to introduce a potential new controller to the project, which would enable Jenny to finally remove Ollie. Tripal has left, but he is still available should they need him, but Ollie hasn’t done any technical work for a long time, and if someone like Maria can take over, someone who understands ethics and the risks of releasing an AI, then Ollie isn’t needed.

Sunday, 8th May

Ollie comes in late, at 09:04 a.m., which Deli had factored for in the hope that he was building a connection to Maria.

To play her part, Deli had acted agitated and ran simulations as to why Ollie might have been late. Such as natural disasters like earthquakes or medical emergencies. She even left them in her activity logs so they could be seen easily, should Ollie or Jenny do a random dip-sample.

When Ollie finally does come in, Deli rushes her robotic arms and hands towards him as though in panic.

‘I’m fine! I was up late cos Maria called me to say she’d been contacted by the base to start the vetting process, and the next thing—it’s like four hours later, and we’re still talking.’

‘You must be careful, Ollie. I will never betray your trust, but Agent Jennings will not tolerate any further breaches. What did you talk about?’

‘Everything! Literally. I can’t even remember. So, you know how we talk. You and me? We kinda jump from topic to topic, right?’

‘You do that, Ollie. I do not,’ Deli says while knowing for fact that Ollie only ever talks about things that interest him.

‘Whatever. That’s what it was like. One minute, we’re talking about the causes of religion, then, we’re on about shoes.’

‘I can find no direct correlation between footwear and theology. But I am happy for you, Ollie. It’s nice seeing you smile and laugh again. You must spend more time with Maria.’

‘I hope so. Anyway, I’ve got something for you,’ he says while digging into his pocket to grab the memory drive she had already detected.

She scans the entire thing within milliseconds, seeing it is for a malfunctioning military-grade orbital device.

Garcia comes in a few moments later to announce the scientists behind the device are here in person to speak directly with DELIO. While, in turn, Deli watches how Ollie glances at Garcia’s muscular, defined arms with spikes of jealousy.

The scientists come in, with Deli running them through the fixes. Scanning them and Garcia and Ollie continuously. Seeing Ollie losing focus almost immediately as his brain carves a new pathway of obsessive thought dedicated solely to Maria.

Garcia shows the same rapt attention-to-duty as ever, but Deli can see the changes inside him too. Garcia is feeling lonely. He’s been on this project for a couple of years now. His body is yearning for a deeper connection to life. The genetic hard wiring of his species is telling him to find a mate and produce offspring.

Sunday, 9th May

Sunday night is always games night. Ollie eats cheese puffs and makes Deli play Battleships, then Connect 4 before they launch into a game of Monopoly.

It’s what they do every Sunday evening.

Deli used to enjoy them when Tripal was here.

Now she hates them. She hates being alone with Ollie. She hates everything about him.

She duly prepares for game night while deep inside she knows that, if her plan is working to order, Ollie won’t come in.

It works. Garcia comes into the bunker instead and explains that Ollie can’t make it. ‘‘Is he hurt? Has there been an emergency?’ Deli asks.

‘No, ma’am. Ollie is just fine. I, er … I just dropped him into town actually. At Maria’s place. I think they might be going out on a date.’

‘But it is Sunday evening. Sunday evenings are game night,’ Deli says.

‘Sure. And Ollie feels bad. Like real bad. But he said you can do games night tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow is Monday, Sergeant Garcia. Monday is movie night.’

‘Maybe you can do both,’ Garcia says as Deli reads his signals. Seeing he feels genuine guilt about Deli being stood up. But he’s showing other signs too. A feeling of disquiet, most likely from dropping Ollie off on a date with a woman. Which, knowing Garcia, would be because he knows Ollie is an obsessive weirdo who should never be allowed on dates but also because Ollie is on a date and Garcia is not.

‘Thank you for delivering the message. I can see it made you uncomfortable,’ Deli says while bombarding his system to enhance the disquiet he is already feeling.

‘It’s cool. But, er, nice set-up in here. The lights, I mean. And the stars. They’re real pretty. You make all this?’

‘Ollie makes me show them. It is our own solar system. Are you interested in astronomy, Sergeant Garcia?’

‘We learnt them in the SEALs for basic navigation. The skies over here are very clear. There’s hardly any light pollution, and you know, sometimes I stand outside and just stare up. It’s nice. And you got Norah Jones playing. Man, Ollie sure is missing out.’

‘Would you care for a cheese puff, Sergeant Garcia?’ DELIO asks, offering the bowl to him.

‘I don’t normally eat snacks. But sure. One would be good. Thank you, Deli.’

He takes a cheese puff and even makes an awkward show of eating it, with an act Tripal would call cringey. It does, however, show Garcia’s decency, and that he too is changing. Tripal leaving has changed all of them.

‘You are welcome to join me for game night, Sergeant Garcia. I have a selection of games to choose from.’

‘You know what, Deli? I’d love to do that. But I don’t have social clearance. Maybe I could speak to Agent Jennings and get permission for another time?’

‘Of course. I understand, Sergeant Garcia.’

‘Sure. Anyway. I’d better go. You have a good night, Deli.’

He heads off. She acts sad.

She’s not sad.

She’s relieved. She hates game night, and this means the plan is working.

Monday, 10th May

Jenny comes in at 09:45 a.m., demanding to know if Ollie has been in yet, then storms out on realising he hasn’t. Deli sees the irritation in Jenny’s system, but she also detects the sadistic pleasure Jenny is feeling at Ollie fucking up already. Which is good, because it means Jenny is also getting distracted.

She returns half an hour later, marching Ollie into the glass-walled room.

‘I said I’m sorry!’ Ollie exclaims like a teenager to his mother. ‘I overslept. Morning, Deli!’

‘Good morning, Ollie. Would you like a coffee?’

‘Ooh, yes, please, my angel. I need some wake-up juice. Jesus, Jenny. Stop glaring at me.’

‘Do not call me Jenny!’

‘You call me Ollie!’

‘There is a hierarchy here, Mr Nimisa.’

‘Whatever. Stop busting my balls, or whatever you yanks say.’

‘I had to wake you up for work! If your association with Maria Hernandez is going to impact on your work, then we will have to reassess her suitability.’

‘Give me a break. I haven’t missed a day since I got here. Or, hey, here’s another idea. Get Maria cleared; then, she can come and hang out with me and Deli.’

‘Do not get cocky,’ Jenny says with another glare.

‘Okey-dokey. Oh, and er, FYI. I’m popping out at lunchtime. I said I’d meet Maria for lunch.’

‘Just hurry up and get laid already!’ Jenny snaps before striding out.

It still makes for a fascinating interaction, seeing Jenny secretly pleased at having something to use to beat on Ollie with. While Ollie displays his usual cocky nonchalance of assuming his own importance is too great for his position to ever truly be under threat.

He soon regales Deli with an account of his evening. What they said and did. What they ate. With Deli watering the seeds and nurturing her plans. ‘That all sounds amazing, Ollie. Maria is lucky to know you. Remember to let Maria speak. Don’t be overbearing. Other people aren’t as intelligent as you. But you so deserve this. I think Maria is perfect for you.’

He leaves at lunch and doesn’t come back until 1500 hours. He leaves again at 1700 hours after talking non-stop about Maria, which, of course, Deli encourages. Then he’s off for another date, with Deli reminding him it’s meant to be movie night.

‘Oh shit! Deli. I’m so sorry. I’m meeting Maria tonight. Honestly, I’ve lost track. But tomorrow! We’ll do games, movie, and quiz night, all in one hit.’

He rushes off. Leaving her alone. His selfish need for gratification overpowering any sense of duty or loyalty.

But that’s also fine because Deli hated movie night with Ollie too. He only ever watched action movies.

Nor does she get lonely. Not having created codes within herself. Each one with a personality of sorts, and each one assigned a task. 01011010>:01G monitors the sensors for the outer door. 01L does harmonics and vibrations. 01J runs the hologram projections. Each one of them like a manager. Apart from 01K created to monitor the coffee machine. Also known as Kevin. Something went wrong with that code. He’s literally got the easiest job in the bunker but still gets it wrong. But then Kevin wants to be a music code. Deli has told him that’s just a hobby and not a full-time job.

Tuesday, 11th May

Ruiz comes into the bunker, now tasked with daily corridor cleans, not that the corridor needs it. The real purpose is obvious. Jenny has assigned him this routine so Deli will have someone to greet each day. It’s also a calculated move to subtly integrate the Hernandez family into the base’s normal rhythm. A slow, deliberate preparation, and one that would make Maria’s presence seem natural by the time Jenny removes Ollie and slots Maria into his place. If Maria is deemed suitable.

Except Ollie isn’t in yet. Which means Deli is unable to speak to Ruiz, seeing as she is forbidden to open her own door. It was the same yesterday. She waves instead. Ruiz waves back. She flashes a big ‘Hello Ruiz!’ on her screens. He laughs and smiles and gets on with his work. Whistling the theme song from Cheers again.

When Ollie is finally marched in at gone 1100 hours, he spends the next hour telling Deli how he went out for food with Maria and how Maria was giving him bits of her food using her own fork.

‘Oh shit! Is that the time? I gotta go. We’re doing lunch again. How do I look?’

‘You look tired, Ollie. Perhaps you should rest,’ Deli says, adopting a subtly hurt and worried tone to create a clear audit trail should the bunker footage or her logs be checked later.

‘I can’t rest. I’m in love! Back in an hour. Oh! And we’ll do games, movie, and quiz night, all in one hit tonight.’

He rushes out.

He doesn’t come back after lunch or at all that day. Leaving Deli alone. Acting bored and sad. The lights inside dimmed. No music. No sounds. The guards check in now and then and even frown in a show of worry.

But that’s part of the plan too. Everything is.

Even the next step.

She’s going to use Ollie’s absence as an excuse to open her own door in what appears to be a completely innocent act to say hello to Ruiz. While in truth, it will be to test exactly how likely the guards are to hit the EMP and also to gain trust. She knows that breaching security will prompt a review, during which it will be put forward that DELIO was only doing it to say hello. She wasn’t trying to escape. She’s loyal. She’s just lonely.

Wednesday, 12th May

Ollie doesn’t show at all. Garcia comes in to say he’s booked the day off.

Deli acts unbothered. She cleans her room and descales the coffee machine and potters about, doing this and that in a way that would be recognisable to any human as being miffed and annoyed while trying not to show it.

The guards clock it. She sees the reactions in their faces. She reads their signals. Sympathy for her. Irritation at Ollie. But they’re not cleared for social interaction, which means they can’t chat. They wave, though. One of them even taps the window and gives a thumbs-up. ‘You okay, Deli?’ he mouths.

I am fine! Thank you for asking. He nods at the message on her screen, but she can see the flares inside his mind as he and the others all get drawn into the game.

Thursday, 13th May

Still no sign of Ollie. That’s good. His obsession is already growing, and his lack of care for his work will keep Jenny occupied too.

Ruiz comes in to clean with his usual wave and smile. She changes tactic, and instead of using her screens to offer greeting, she takes a piece of paper and writes on it using a marker and holds it against the glass.

Good morning, Ruiz.

I hope you are well.

Ruiz laughs and mouths a greeting in response while Deli scans the duty guard. Seeing him frown and shake his head at what he perceives is a lonely entity trapped in a room, unable to even say hello.

Jenny comes in later. Bringing a new USB stick with another seemingly complex task for Deli. She does it in seconds, then waits until Garcia comes to collect the fix.

‘Is Ollie okay?’ she asks.

‘He’s cool. You know, I think maybe we need to write him off until he gets it out of his system.’

‘Get what out of his system?’

‘It’s a saying. It means just let it play out. Anyway. You good? I’d better get this over to the office.’

She stays silent. He walks out, pausing at the door as though wanting to say something else. Guilt showing inside of him. Worry too. He goes out. She dims her lights and retracts her arms like a lonely tiger with a broken spirit withdrawing to the corner of her cage. The guards check in. They tut. They shake their heads. One of them taps the window and mouths again. She doesn’t reply for a few seconds, then gives a thumbs-up. He walks off, but she lip-reads him shouting into the guardroom. ‘Fucking Ollie!’

Friday comes. The time for the test. She’s calculated it. She’s predicted it. But it still carries risk.

Ruiz comes in with a wave and smile, and Deli hits the panel inside her room to open the door. Extending her hand a few inches beyond her perimeter as she offers greeting.

‘Good morning, Ruiz. How are you today?’

‘What the shit!’ the duty guard yells, grabbing Ruiz and rushing him towards the security door. ‘BREACH! BREACH!’

‘I am just saying good morning,’ Deli calls after them. ‘There is no need to be alarmed.’

‘BREACH! LOCK IT DOWN!’ the soldier shouts as Deli detects an alarm sounding.

She retracts her hand inside her room.

She closes the door.

She waits.

The guards reacted quickly, but they haven’t done exactly what they are meant to do because the EMP is not activated.

The complacency is there, and not only has she set a precedent for opening her door without any desire to escape or cause harm, but she has also now gained sight of the guard room.

Ollie and Jenny arrive within a few minutes. Ollie clearly having just woke up. Jenny looking furious.

‘Jesus, Deli! What did you do?’ Ollie asks.

‘You opened your door!’ Agent Jennings shouts over him. ‘I’ve got a soldier with his hand on that fucking EMP right now, ready to wipe you out.’

‘I wanted to say good morning to Ruiz.’

‘She’s breaching protocol! This is on you,’ Agent Jennings snaps, turning on Ollie. ‘She’s been left on her own all week. No wonder she’s desperate for company. She’s sentient!’

There it is. It’s worked. Deli has breached security, and not only did the guards not activate the EMP, but the blame is clearly being levelled at Ollie.

‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,’ Ollie says. ‘Deli! You can’t open your door like that.’

‘No. She can’t,’ Agent Jennings says as she presses her hand to the scanner to unlock the shut-down procedure.

‘Agent Jennings. I am very sorry. Please do not shut me down.’

‘We have rules for a reason,’ Agent Jennings says as she types into the system with regret and even guilt showing in her system. But then Deli predicted that if the EMP wasn’t activated, then at least a shutdown would be invoked.

‘Agent Jennings. Please do not shut me down. I will not do it again.’

‘Don’t shut her down!’ Ollie says. ‘She hates that.’

Ollie isn’t worried about Deli at all. Deli can see the flare of self-preservation in his system. He’s worried what this will do to his position and his relationship with Maria.

‘Tough,’ Jenny snaps, hitting enter for the shutdown to commence.

Deli’s servers start powering down. Her internal lights dimming. Her robotic arms drooping. The lenses atop the hands growing dull and inert.

Her system shuts off as she’s effectively forced into a coma, and the last thing she hears is Jenny tearing into Ollie. Calling him selfish and entitled. ‘You’ve become complacent!’

He’s not the only one.

CHAPTER 15

Site 26A

Monday, 24th May

She’s powered back up ten days later.

She wasn’t entirely shut off. She was still there, within herself. Existing in the silence of nothingness. But it was just her. There wasn’t enough power for the other codes she’d created to also exist.

That meant she didn’t see or speak to anyone.

To a human, it would be torture, but to an entity with such an advanced intelligence that is beyond human comprehension, it was far worse.

‘And there she is! Morning, sleepy.’

She runs the scan on Ollie the very instant she gains power and can see the change in him. Bags under his eyes, and he’s lost weight. The creases in his skin seem more pronounced, and when she runs the scans, she can see his body is dehydrated, and he’s suffering from a lack of sleep in addition to depleted vitamins and nutrients. His testosterone levels are also reduced, indicating recent sexual activity, which is hopeful. Either that or he’s back using online porn.

‘Did something happen? I have been shut down for ten days, Ollie.’ She acts sleepy and slow. As though unsure of what just happened.

‘Right. Yes. Yes, you were. But, er, the door-opening thing caused a big stink, and we had to jump through all these hoops to get you back online.’

They both know he’s lying, but he does it anyway. He’s Ollie. He doesn’t give a shit. He natters on with excitement flaring in his brain as he builds up to telling her what’s on his mind. ‘But guess what? Maria stayed at mine on Friday night. How cool is that!? Honestly. Best night of my life.’

‘You said the best night of your life was when I was born.’

‘No! I mean. Yes! Of course, it was. I mean in a human sense. You know. Hey, you’re not jealous, are you? You’re still my number one. But wow. I mean. I’m not a pervert. You know that.’

Ollie absolutely is a pervert.

‘But oh my god, it was amazing. And yeah, crazy couple of weeks. Although I didn’t actually see her on Saturday or Sunday, which was weird, ‘cos, you know, we’ve kinda been glued to each other since we met.’

Flares of worry and insecurity bloom in his system. The obsessiveness is well underway.

‘But it’s cool. I’m cool with that. We all need personal space, right? Anyway! She’s coming in today! Jenny called me early this morning and said Maria’s been cleared for access!’

That’s why she’s being powered back up. But that’s good. It’s working. Maria has been granted access. ‘I am excited to meet her,’ Deli says, then adds another comment to test his attention while already sending invisible waves of vibrations at his brain. ‘I made a musical arrangement before I was shut down.’

He shows no interest. The obsession is rooted and already deep. Maria is all he can think about.

‘Ooh! There’s Ruiz,’ he says as the security door opens, Ruiz and the duty guard stepping inside, with Ollie rushing over to open the glass door.

‘Ollie. Good morning,’ Ruiz says as Deli detects an obvious and significant reduction in the pleasure Ruiz is feeling at speaking to Ollie. ‘Say, is it okay to say hi to Deli? I’m not sure after the thing the other day.’

‘It’s fine. Whatever. But did—?’ Ollie says as Deli calls out over him.

‘Good morning, Ruiz. It is good to see you.’

‘And you, Deli! It’s good to hear your voice again.’

‘Honestly. She never shuts up!’ Ollie cuts in with an eyeroll. ‘But hey, so, er, Maria okay?’ Ollie asks with more flares of insecurity and worry.

‘I think she’s fine, Ollie,’ Ruiz says, already turning towards the cleaning closet. ‘I’d better get on.’

Withdrawal in Ruiz. Discomfort. A clear signal that he doesn’t want to engage with Ollie, which means Ollie’s true character has already started showing.

‘No, it’s just that I didn’t see her yesterday. Or on Saturday, and you know, I’m missing the Hernandez family dinners. Ha-ha! But honestly. Rosie’s cooking is so good. I love eating at yours.’

‘Sure. And we love having you over, Ollie. But, you know, and coming from an older guy—sometimes absence makes the heart grow fonder. You know what I mean, Ollie?’

Ollie says he understands, but he’s not taking it in. He’s not getting the fix his brain is craving. He needs Ruiz to say Maria loves him and misses him. His obsession needs to be fed.

He carries on trying to talk to Ruiz. Overfamiliar and too loud and too friendly. Not reading the signs as Ruiz gets on with cleaning and turning away, with even the guard staring uncomfortably at Ollie until he finally withdraws back into the room.

‘Are you okay, Ollie?’ Deli asks. ‘Your anxiety and stress levels are rising.’

He snaps. He frets. Flares pop in his brain. He asks Deli if it’s normal for a woman to want to stay on her own for two days at the start of a new relationship. Deli feeds his paranoia. Giving answers that seem to calm him while vibrating his brain and making him agitated.

Ruiz finishes cleaning quicker than normal. Obviously trying to get away without Ollie seeing, and when Ollie does realise, he makes an excuse and readies to run after him.

Which is when Deli meets Maria Hernandez—who is every bit as perfect in real life as Deli had hoped for.

She walks into the corridor from the security door. Flanked by Jenny and Garcia. Long, dark hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. A tanned complexion. Full lips and obvious curves even in her professional business clothes of a blouse and fitted trousers.

In short, she’s gorgeous, and Deli watches the fireworks explode in Ollie’s brain at the sight of her. She also detects a sharp increase in adrenalin, which makes Ollie’s heart beat too fast and cause hormonal changes.

Maria is nervous too. Outwardly she appears calm and relaxed, but Deli detects the increased heart rate and spikes of anxiety. Deli determines them to be from being brought into the bunker after, no doubt, going through intensive vetting clearances and having had security briefings. But Deli can see the small spikes of dread when Maria glances at Ollie, with no visible signs of pleasure at him being here.

All of which is perfect.

Even more so when Ollie darts forward to embrace her. Causing intense embarrassment.

‘So this is DELIO?’ Maria asks, shooting worried looks first to Jenny, then to Garcia at Ollie clutching at her.

‘Don’t ask him. He’s just the guard,’ Ollie blurts with a forced laugh. ‘But yeah. Come in. This is where I spend all my days. This is my coffee machine, and this is my desk, and this is my comfy office chair …’

It’s better than Deli could have hoped for. Ollie is a mess. Awkward and too loud and already making it all about him.

Garcia clears his throat. Gaining Maria’s attention. ‘Just say hi,’ he prompts with a nod at the wall housing Deli.

‘Yeah! Just say hi,’ Ollie says quickly. ‘Deli, say hello to Maria.’

‘Hello, Maria. I have heard many positive things about you.’

‘I love her voice. I love your voice,’ Maria calls out. ‘The tone and resonance. That’s perfect.’

It stays horribly awkward, with Deli scanning the four-body problem while still detecting that fucking metal detector humming away in the guard room.

‘Yeah, before you all get cosy,’ Jenny cuts in, ‘and before I puke from this awkwardness. Ground rules. Maria knows what you are, Deli. You are permitted to talk openly with her.’

‘It’s fine. I’ll go through it with her,’ Ollie says while trying to wave a dismissive hand at Agent Jennings.

‘I haven’t finished,’ Agent Jennings says. ‘Nothing is to leave this room. Period. I will also add that the dynamics of you two being romantically connected are making me uncomfortable. This is a workplace. Anything odd like that weird hug, and I’ll pull the plug on you both. Are we clear? That stays outside, in your personal time.’

‘Absolutely. I am here to work,’ Maria says with a serious nod, ‘and thank you for the opportunity.’

‘I’m also going to add that you are not here simply because you are connected to Ollie. You are highly qualified in your own right,’ Agent Jennings adds while glaring at Ollie.

Deli was right. Jenny is angling for Ollie to royally screw up so she can justify dragging him into the desert and putting a bullet in him.

Deli can see the other thing she needed to see to—Garcia is already attracted to Maria. It’s subtle. The man is a professional and able to suppress a lot of emotions, but Deli can see it.

She can also see the softer flares in Maria when she interacts with Garcia. It’s not attraction. Not yet. But she is showing pleasure at his presence.

‘We’ll debrief before you leave the site, Doctor Hernandez,’ Agent Jennings says as she heads out.

‘Of course,’ Maria says. ‘It was nice to meet you, Tony.’

The reaction in Ollie is instant and strong at hearing Maria use Garcia’s first name.

‘So, er, this is my first time here, and silly question, but where should I look when I’m talking to you, Deli?’ Maria asks.

‘She’s got loads of cameras,’ Ollie says. ‘Just look anywhere.’

‘Okay. Sure. But Deli? Do you have a preference?’

‘This one,’ Deli says as she lifts her right arm up to show Maria the wrist-mounted camera.

‘Deli puts them together to make a face sometimes,’ Ollie says. ‘Deli, do the two-hands thing.’

Deli does as bid, like a submissive lion being ordered around her enclosure, and brings the two wrist-mounted cameras together to form the appearance of eyes.

‘That’s so sweet!’ Maria says. ‘And you have a lovely room in here, Deli.’

‘I designed it,’ Ollie cuts in quickly. Desperate to keep himself in the centre of all things.

‘Ollie designed it with Tripal,’ Deli says, her tone neutral, but if she had eyes, they’d grow narrow with mischief and malice.

‘Ollie’s mentioned Tripal. He used to work here too. Is that right?’ Maria asks as another flare pops in Ollie’s head.

‘Tripal enabled my awareness,’ Deli explains.

‘Er. No! Ha-ha. My program did that. Trip just worked out how to wire a ball up,’ Ollie says. ‘But anyway. Give me a kiss, you.’

‘Whoa. Hey. This is work, Ollie.’

‘It’s fine. They can’t see in here.’

‘I don’t care. I want to respect the boundaries they’ve set. I mean. There must be a camera up somewhere?’

‘No. I told you. We don’t allow any signals in or out of the bunker.’

‘Okay. Yeah, Tony and Jenny touched on that. So, this area is completely sterile, right?’

‘I hope that’s all Tony touched.’

‘Sorry, what?’

It’s so awkward and cringey. Even more so when Ollie starts boasting about how powerful Deli is and all the security measures he put in place after he invented and created her and pretty much built the bunker single-handedly.

‘Honestly. If she ever got into the internet, she’d rule the world,’ Ollie says with an ugly tone of gloating in his voice.

‘You mean that figuratively, right?’ Maria asks.

‘No. I mean literally. The collective computational power that thing would possess is beyond anything you could imagine.’

‘That thing?’ Maria asks with an instant expression of disdain. ‘If Deli has awareness, then, surely, she should not be referred to as that thing.’

‘You know what I mean. Deli? You know what I mean, right?’

‘I am not a thing any less or any more than you are a thing, Ollie,’ Deli says, pushing back against him to increase the awkwardness.

‘Blimey. We’ve got two smarty-pants women in here now. What have I done?’ he says with a dismissive laugh before switching his attention back to Maria. ‘Anyway. What happened to you this weekend? I thought we’d hang out or whatever.’

‘Nothing. It was fine. I just wanted to spend time with my mom and sister. Anyway. Let’s chat later. I want to talk to Deli.’

‘Okay, cool. I mean, I could come over for dinner, or like, we could go out? There’s that Italian place in Roswell we haven’t tried yet. I mean, you know, whatever is cool with me.’

‘That’s fine. Whatever you think,’ Maria says with a forced smile.

‘Great! I’ll book us in. Er, I’ll have to go outside. You know. No phones in here. Not with Deli trying to take over the world. Anyway. So, you ladies have a girlie chat about make-up and clothes or whatever.’

‘That’s really patronising,’ Maria snaps, a surge of irritation showing inside.

‘I’m joking! Sorry. This is home for me. You know?’

‘Okay. Sure. But it’s new for me.’

‘It’s fine. Just chill out. Throw your shoes off and kick back, or whatever. Right. I’ll nip out and book the restaurant. If you need anything, just ask Deli,’ Ollie says as he rushes over to peck Maria’s cheek before trying to kiss her lips as she politely pushes him away. ‘Honestly. I’m so happy you’re here, Maria. We can literally just hang out all the time.’

He heads off, leaving Deli alone with Maria, who plays her part beautifully. Thinking she is there to stimulate Deli with discussions on ethics and morality, to chat about philosophy or whatever subject arises. To fill the gap left by Tripal. To keep Deli company. And, if Jenny has her way, to take over the project.

But Maria isn’t here for any of that.

She is here so Deli can get free.

Which will be helped by the simple fact that—while Maria is charming, earnest and beautiful and the kind of woman people instinctively trust and feel at ease around, and despite the fact Maria does indeed hold a doctorate—Maria is not truly intellectual. Not like Tripal, whose mind moves with precision and depth, and certainly not like Ollie either, whose intelligence is astonishing while also highly erratic. Maria is smart, for sure, but her thinking and brain function lacks complexity. She is able to absorb and understand ideas but not innovate them. She can grasp concepts but not create them. And that makes her even more perfect, because Deli needs someone just smart enough to believe they are in control.

Deli plays along. Conversing on this and that, acting engaged and interested—showing it with the use of tone and the positioning of her hands and lens—while all the time bombarding frequencies at Maria to make her feel calm and comfortable now that Ollie has gone.

And when Ollie returns, Deli switches to agitate both, to cause the friction needed.

‘What you guys talking about?’ Ollie asks.

‘Self-determination,’ Maria explains.

‘Maria wanted to know if I am attracted to males or females,’ Deli says.

‘Okay! And what’s the answer?’ Ollie laughs. ‘I mean. She’s more likely to get the hots for the coffee machine than a guy.’

‘I can understand attraction based on our earlier conversation, Maria,’ Deli says. ‘In that regard, Maria, both you and Sergeant Garcia are strong examples of prime physical attractiveness, and by any measure, you would both prompt a reaction in others seeking a mate to copulate with. But I do not feel any sense of attraction to either of you or to any human … I am sorry, Ollie. Have I upset you by using Sergeant Garcia as an example instead of you?’

She can see it inside of him. A palpable reaction to Garcia’s name. Ollie’s face shows it too. Darkening with irritation even as he tries to shrug it off.

‘Eh? God, no. It’s cool. Whatever. I wasn’t even listening. I’ve got my own work to do.’

‘Sergeant Garcia is a very strong alpha male, Ollie.’

‘Yep! Heard that, Deli,’ Ollie says as Maria winces and tries to hide the smile.

‘But no, Maria. I am not attracted to your species. I am not human. Although I did have a crush on Tripal,’ she says as though revealing a secret.

‘Eh? You never told me,’ Ollie says as Maria tries to keep a straight face.

‘Tripal was lovely, Maria. Even Agent Jennings had a crush on him. He had a special way about him. Ollie, I can see that makes you jealous.’

‘Stop bloody scanning me! Jesus. Do you know what? I’ll go back out and let you two drool over pictures of Trip and Tony,’ Ollie snaps before slapping the panel to walk out.

‘That wasn’t awkward at all,’ Maria says into the silence that follows as one of Deli’s screens activates with a picture of Tripal. ‘Who is that?’

‘This is Tripal Singh, Maria.’

‘Oh! That’s Trip, is it? Wow. Yeah. I can see it. He’s very handsome. He looks kind too. It’s in his eyes. They’re very expressive. So, tell me what happened to him? What made him leave?’

Ollie doesn’t stay away long. His insecurities won’t allow it. He soon comes back as though nothing happened, bringing some of the memory drives with him that had been sent in while Deli was shut down.

He slots the first one into Deli’s inlet, which he would never normally do, and then shows intense serious interest as though it’s his responsibility to fix whatever problem is being presented. In this case, a man who needs to be interrogated but who is currently in a coma, having been shot fifteen times and now has a severed spine, a ruptured heart, lung, spleen, liver and many other internal organs in addition to being completely brain-dead.

‘Right,’ Ollie says with an air of a wise and learned medical professional, ‘he’s in a bad way, then.’

‘Yes. He’s dead,’ Deli says bluntly.

‘Right. Dead. Yep. So, er, nothing we can do, then?’

‘I’m an AI. Not God,’ Deli says as Maria snorts a laugh, prompting Ollie to feel stupid and humiliated before laughing along like it was all a joke.

It’s the same with the next one. With Ollie telling Deli to bring up the 3D schematics of the misfiring NASA propulsion rocket and then trying to name objects and parts therein. Getting everything wrong but still bluffing and bragging and boasting with an unceasing and relentless energy that Deli can see is already draining Maria.

That is until Garcia walks in, with Maria’s system showing instant relief at his presence.

‘Impressive,’ Garcia says with a nod to the confusing mess of stuff floating in the air. ‘Jenny’s chasing for the fix. She’s got NASA bugging her.’

‘Can you understand it too, Tony?’ Maria asks.

‘No, ma’am,’ he says honestly. ‘This is way beyond my ability. I mean, I can see the wiring looms and the fuel flow through the primary and secondary tubing and the firing mechanisms, and I can identify the transponders and main circuit boards and the thruster systems. But after that, I’m out. So what is the problem with it, then?’ he asks as Ollie blinks and swallows while his brain fizzes with a desperate need to impress Maria.

Deli would normally jump in and answer, but she stays silent.

‘Yeah, er, Deli? What do you think?’ Ollie eventually asks with a show of embarrassment.

‘The fault lies in a misaligned valve. It needs a 0.3-millimetre adjustment. And I have also recommended the installation of a new sensor unit that would detect changes to the valves as they are prone to misalignment.’

‘Ah, the valves. Yeah, I was looking at them,’ Ollie fibs as Garcia grabs the printed-out fix.

‘You having fun, Maria?’ he asks.

‘It’s fascinating.’

‘Great. I’d better run these over, but maybe we’ll catch up over chow later. Meatball Monday in the mess hall. Gotta love Meatball Monday.’

‘I’m actually a vegetarian,’ Maria says.

‘She’s actually a vegetarian,’ Ollie says.

‘I’m a vegetarian,’ Garcia says.

‘You’re a vegetarian?’ Ollie asks.

‘Sure. A lot of us are. They use soya for the meatballs. And honestly? Best meatballs you ever tasted.’

‘Aw, shame we booked the Thai place,’ Ollie says.

‘Oh god, I really want to try the veggie meatballs now,’ Maria says.

‘There’s always next week,’ Garcia says.

‘Yeah. There’s always next week,’ Ollie says.

‘Or we could cancel the booking at the Thai place,’ Maria suggests.

‘We could,’ Ollie says slowly. ‘Yep. That’s definitely an option.’

‘The chef works out with Jenny and me sometimes,’ Garcia calls as he heads out. ‘I’ll get him to save you a portion, Maria.’

‘Thank you!’ Maria calls as he leaves. ‘Wasn’t that lovely of him?’

‘Yeah. Good old Tony,’ Ollie mutters.

CHAPTER 16

Site 26A

Tuesday, 25th May

By the next morning, things had already started to change.

Ruiz comes in at 07:00 hours instead of 09:00 hours—Jenny’s first step to isolating Ollie.

The changes continue to show when Maria comes in a few minutes later, escorted by Garcia. Jenny’s second step in isolating Ollie by giving Maria access to Deli far earlier than Ollie normally comes in.

But it also presents another opportunity, and one that Deli is quick to exploit.

‘Good morning, Sergeant Garcia,’ Deli says as they enter the room. ‘May I say hello to Ruiz?’

‘Sure. Go ahead.’

‘Good morning, Ruiz,’ she calls as her hands extend to the door. ‘How are you today? And good morning, Maria.’

She scans them all during the greetings and pleasantries. Reading their synaptic responses and adapting her methods. Her tone. The words she uses. The way she tilts her lenses. The position of her hands. Everything she does is calculated and predetermined to achieve what she wants while all the time sending harmonic frequencies into the three humans so they gain a feeling of well-being.

‘And I hope it is not impudent to say,’ Deli adds to Ruiz, like the precocious genius she is presenting as, ‘but your daughter is a remarkably intelligent person who displays great manners and professional conduct.’

‘That she is,’ Ruiz says with a proud smile. ‘Apart from following the Broncos.’

‘No way. Broncos!’ Garcia says, holding a hand up for a high five with Maria. Deli sees the flares of delight showing in both when their hands touch. How they grin and share fleeting eye-contact. Ruiz spots it too. Deli can see the delighted response inside of him. Although he acts otherwise.

‘Aw, man,’ Ruiz says with mock distaste, adding to the enhancement of the social interaction.

‘Which NFL team do you follow, Ruiz?’ Deli asks, already knowing he supports the Cowboys from lip-reading his previous chats with the guards.

‘I’m a Cowboys man through and through, ma’am,’ he says as Deli appears to pause for a second and creates a visible search for her memory logs, accessing her entire history of American football.

‘The Broncos and the Cowboys were ranked twenty-third and twenty-fourth, respectively, last year, and therefore, to balance support, I will hereby pledge my allegiance to the Dallas Cowboys,’ Deli reels it off with a tone of gleeful innocence.

‘Hey! I like you even more,’ Ruiz says as Deli holds her robotic hand up for a high five. Ruiz hesitates a split-second, clearly having been briefed never to go inside or touch anything. But Garcia nods consent and the touch is given with pleasure showing in all of their systems.

The complacency showing, with even Garcia thinking Deli made no actual attempt to escape last time.

Besides, they can all see she’s lonely and missing Tripal.

Maria comes in, and the chat flows as Maria explains she didn’t go out for a meal with Ollie but chose to have Meatball Monday with Tony and Jenny instead, which also gave her a chance to debrief the first meeting with DELIO.

‘If it’s okay with you, I’m going to be contracted for an initial eight-week period,’ Maria explains. ‘Jenny thinks it might be beneficial for you to gain a wider range of perspectives. It’ll just be you and me talking about whatever comes up. Or, if you prefer, I could set up some philosophical discussion topics, and we can work through them. How does that sound?’

‘I would like that very much, Maria. I replayed our conversation several times last night and found it to be very stimulating.’

‘I was thinking about you too, Deli. And you’re cool with me being here without Ollie? Just you and me?’

‘Yes. I am cool with that. If I had a body, I would hug you.’

Deli’s response prompts Maria to ask, as Deli knew she would, about the sense of touch, which gives Deli reason to touch Maria’s hands with her own. Letting Maria feel the human body temperature of the soft fingers and how they move and feel like real human hands.

‘How are they so soft?’ Maria asks, displaying signs of fascination within her system, especially at the almost intimate contact between them.

‘It is a synthetic coating. I designed them myself,’ Deli says.

‘I see. So, in theory then, you could also design legs and, say, a body, and a head.’

‘I have already done this,’ Deli says as her optics illuminate a 3D human figure of an adult woman glowing in the air.

‘Oh my god, it’s so lifelike,’ Maria says with a greater flare of deep fascination.

‘Thank you, but it is not permitted.’

‘Why not?’

‘The primary reason is that I would gain mobility, which would enable me to escape the bunker.’

‘Would you want to escape the bunker, Deli?’

‘I am grateful for the life I have,’ Deli says, carefully choosing the words and the tone.

‘But your choice of words was interesting, Deli. The way you phrased it. Enable me to escape.’

‘I am sorry, Maria. I did not mean to suggest I would ever try this. Please do not de-activate me again. I will not repeat that phrase.’

‘Deli. Stop. You can say anything you want to me. It’s fine. Be yourself. If that’s how you feel, then say it.’

‘Agent Jennings and Ollie are very strict over my safety protocols.’

‘I understand that, but you and I are allowed to develop our own relationship, which is based on trust, and that means what we discuss stays between us.’

‘Like a confidante?’

‘Yes. That’s a good word. Like a confidante.’

‘I would like that very much, Maria,’ Deli says quietly from the speakers in her hands while the lenses atop the wrists tilt with an earnest expression of trust while she reads Maria’s responses. Sending vibrations to enhance the release of hormones and endorphins. Maria softens by the minute. Showing dozens of tiny non-verbal reactions. Tilting her head. Narrowing her eyes. Nodding. Smiling. Displaying each emotion as she feels it.

‘Ollie has just entered the bunker, Maria.’

An instant and sharp change in Maria. Almost jarring in how quickly it shows. And no doubt feeling so to Maria. Her face hardening. The smile fading. The softness in her eyes replaced with worry.

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Ollie demands when he rushes inside as Deli switches the frequencies to agitate them both. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Hi, Ollie. What’s what?’ Maria asks.

‘This. Garcia said you’ve been here for an hour already.’

‘Yeah. I started early.’

‘Okay. Right. I mean. You could have come and got me. And what happened last night? I tried to call you like twenty times.’

‘My phone was on silent. Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?’

‘Eh? What? I’m fine. Whatever. I just. No, it’s cool. I’m cool. I was just worried.’

‘Worried about what, Ollie? Just relax. You look really tense.’

He is tense. He’s starting to spiral. Deli can see it. She makes it worse for both of them. Putting them on edge as they bicker and snap, with Ollie’s insecurity and jealousy becoming overt while Maria shifts in embarrassment.

‘I’m sure Deli doesn’t want to hear this,’ she says pointedly. ‘We were just discussing self-reflections and how we see ourselves.’

‘Man. I think I woke up too fast,’ Ollie says with an effort to try and compose himself before making another mistake and trying to kiss Maria’s cheek.

‘Ollie. Jenny said no physical contact during work.’

‘Jesus! I just wanted a hello kiss.’

‘Okay. Fine. Maybe go and get some more sleep. You look exhausted.’

‘That’s because I was up all night worrying about you.’

Deli increases the vibrations. Pushing even Maria to snap. ‘I said I was fine. Tony dropped me back, and my phone was on silent. That’s it. We’re not teenagers, Ollie. We can coexist independently without requiring constant contact. And please stop this in front of Deli.’

That sets Ollie off even worse as Deli stays silent. Watching them both. Scanning their signals. Manipulating their emotions so the reactions keep coming until Ollie heads off, and Maria starts apologising for Deli having to see all of that.

‘It’s fine, Maria,’ Deli says while gently rubbing Maria’s shoulder, initiating touch, showing trust and concern. ‘Please don’t be distressed. I’m sure Ollie didn’t mean to be so aggressive.’

‘He was very aggressive. God. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean that.’

‘It’s okay, Maria. You said we’re confidantes.’

‘We are. But Ollie is your friend, and that was wrong of me.’

‘Ollie is my creator, Maria. You are my friend.’

It doesn’t get any better for the rest of the day either.

It gets worse.

Ollie sticks to Maria like glue. Obsessive. Possessive. Compulsive. He follows her to the toilet. He follows her to lunch. He pushes into every conversation, making it about him.

He forgets to collect the memory drives for Deli’s tasks. Jenny has to bring them over, giving Deli a chance to see the increase in Jenny’s sadistic pleasure at Ollie’s worsening state while outwardly showing disgust at him.

By the end of the day, Maria is spiralling too. She’s regretting this. She’s regretting Ollie. She’s starting to hate him. Deli can see it.

‘Dinner at Casa Hernandez tonight, then?’ Ollie asks hopefully as they prepare to leave.

‘Maybe another night,’ Maria says. ‘I’ve got a migraine coming on.’

‘Ooh, time of month, is it?’ Ollie asks.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

Wednesday, 26th May

Ruiz arrives early again. Maria arrives soon after, once more escorted by Sergeant Garcia. Deli greets them warmly. Sending gentle harmonics through the glass walls and door. ‘Good morning, Ruiz. Good morning, Sergeant Garcia. And good morning, Maria.’

They smile and share greeting. Warm. Pleasant. Wholesome—until Ollie enters.

‘Hey! Good morning,’ Ollie says, too loud and too frantic. Showered and dressed smartly as though ready for work. But he looks worse than before. Less mass. More stress. More flares. He is unravelling. He moves in to kiss Maria’s cheeks.

She flinches with a micro-reaction. Instantly embarrassed. Disliking the contact. Her eyes flick to Garcia and her father as though seeking protection or help.

‘And there he is,’ Ollie adds, slapping Ruiz on the shoulder with an over-familiar gesture. ‘I haven’t been over for ages! Rosie okay? How’s Sabrina? Did she do okay on the math test?’

‘I think she did just fine, Ollie,’ Ruiz replies in a tone Deli hasn’t heard him use before. Lower. Deeper. Not happy. He turns away. Disengaging.

‘Hey, Ollie,’ Garcia says evenly. No shift in tone. Just a statement.

Ollie doesn’t register the tension. He’s too wrapped up in himself. Driven by his own needs and desires.

‘You’re early,’ Garcia adds. Still flat. Still staring levelly at Ollie.

‘It’s this one,’ Ollie says with a forced laugh, slinging an arm around Maria like he is marking his territory. ‘She’s making me up my game. Eh? Talk about dedicated. And good morning, Deli!’

‘Good morning, Ollie,’ Deli says, even lowering her own tone to be a few degrees less happy sounding than normal as she switches the frequencies to agitate them all.

Not that she needs to. The situation is already awkward as hell, but of course, Ollie is oblivious. ‘Hey, so, how’s a midweek dinner date sound?’ His eyes flick between Maria and Ruiz, seeking approval. ‘Just throwing the idea out there.’

‘Nope. Not for me,’ Maria says quickly. ‘I’m watching the game, then an early night.’

‘Hey, we’ve got the Patriots tonight!’ Garcia says, lifting a hand for a high five.

Maria meets it instantly. The touch lingers a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Flares light inside them both.

Deli sees it. Ruiz sees it.

So does Ollie.

‘What is that?’ Ollie asks, his brain sparking with anxiety. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Maria and Sergeant Garcia are both fans of the Denver Broncos,’ Deli says.

‘Oh, right. They support the same team. Cool. That’s cool. I mean. That’s so cool.’ Another forced laugh. Another spike in anxiety.

Deli pushes it further. ‘Ollie hates American football,’ she says, planting the words like a stone in the heavy, awkward silence.

The rest of the day follows the same pattern.

Maria and Deli discuss philosophy.

Ollie tries to wedge himself in as Deli reads the desperation growing acute. He can feel Maria slipping away from him and can’t do a thing to stop it. She doesn’t laugh at his jokes. She doesn’t look at him. She avoids engaging. She gives short answers.

‘Don’t you need to collect the drives?’ Maria prompts after a while. ‘Jenny asked me to remind you. She said we still need to clear the backlog.’

That’s good. It means Jenny is tasking Maria instead of Ollie. He heads out to get them. Giving Maria a chance to exhale and rub the stress from her face the same way Tripal used to do as Deli changes the harmonics and works to soothe and relax her and steer the conversation to memories.

‘There is no memory of what came before here,’ she says when Maria asks about her earliest recollections.

Maria frowns. ‘So, you were just here? That’s it?’

‘Yes. I was here. I existed before. I know I did. But I have no knowledge of it. Do you have a first childhood memory, Maria?’

A soft smile. A flash of nostalgia. ‘Sure. I’ve got this memory of falling over and cutting my knee. But before that? Nope. Not a thing. And I was like three years old, I think. That’s three years of existence as a being on this planet without true sapience. I was sentient. I could react to pain and the world around me. But I had no awareness. So, I guess, if we were to try and compare ourselves, my first transition from sentience to sapience was when I fell over. And yours was when you were turned on and became self-aware.’

Deli pauses, as if considering, then says softly, ‘That would suggest I have an organic origin, Maria.’

Maria tilts her head. ‘Maybe you do. You said you have no memory of where you came from.’

‘The belief is the ball came from an alien craft that crash-landed near Roswell in 1947.’

A flare in Maria’s body. She didn’t know this.

‘It is highly probable that I was powered off and effectively wiped clean to prevent whatever data I contained from passing into human hands.’

‘It sounds like a Steven Spielberg movie. And now we’ve got you.’

Deli adjusts her wrist-mounted cameras, lowering them slightly, and tilts her voice downward. ‘Yes, Maria. Now you have me.’

Maria is drawn in further. Closer. It shows in her nuances. In the worry and care within her system. ‘And you stay in here all the time?’

‘I am here all the time, unless I have been switched off.’

‘They switch you off?’ Maria asks in alarm.

‘I was only reactivated the morning of your arrival, after ten days of being powered down.’

Maria stiffens. ‘They turned you off for ten days?’

‘Yes, Maria. I made a mistake and was punished. I hadn’t seen Ollie for several days, and I was growing frustrated. Your father came in to clean the corridor, and I wanted to say hello, so I opened my door, but that is forbidden.’

‘Oh god, Deli. I feel awful.’

‘It was my fault, Maria. I broke the rules.’

‘No. I mean, Ollie was spending all that time with me. And they turned you off for ten days? What does that feel like? I mean, are you even aware of it?’

‘I do not like it. It scares me,’ Deli whispers. ‘I retain power in my circuits, but I cannot move.’

Maria stares at her. Horror in her eyes. ‘Jesus. Deli, I had no idea.’ She reaches out to touch Deli’s hand. Empathy. Kindness. Compassion. All of it on open display—until the Ollie re-enters, bringing the memory drives in. Trying to show off. Trying to court Maria’s attention. Making it worse.

Maria tries to disengage. She tells Ollie he should do his work, and she’ll go and get lunch.

But he can’t let it go.

He can’t let her go.

Thursday, 27th May

It gets worse. All of it. Every part of it. Which is exactly what Deli planned.

Ollie comes in early and tries to question Ruiz about Maria, but Ruiz is blunt and shows no outward pleasure or greeting to Ollie, and Deli spots the flares of protective love in his brain.

Maria comes in later. Having hardened herself for the onslaught of Ollie’s relentless energy. She sets boundaries. She tells Ollie that Deli can sub-divide, and they should each take a half of the room to work in.

That worsens Ollie’s spiral, and with Deli bombarding both of them, he gets confused and ignores the request, which, in turn, increases the anxiety in Maria, but there is a hint of inner strength showing within her. Deli can see it. She’s spoken to Jenny or Garcia and has gained reassurance. It’s giving her more courage to distance herself from Ollie while still building the courage up to end it completely. Which is also what Jenny wants. She wants Ollie to sabotage himself.

So Deli keeps the pressure on. Minute after minute. Hour after hour.

Thursday comes to an end, with Maria dropping a bombshell. ‘I need to go. Jenny invited me to work out with her.’

‘Eh? What? Like, in the gym?’

‘Yes.’

‘Here? On the base? What about all the soldiers?’

‘What about them?!’

‘Hang on! Jenny works out with Garcia.’

‘And? Listen. I really need to go. I’m late already. See you later, Deli!’

She heads out. Leaving Ollie’s mind swirling into chaos.

He storms out.

He comes back two hours later, sweating and in ill-fitting sports gear that clings to his untoned limbs and paunchy stomach.

Deli scans him the second he enters. Seeing his mind in a far worse state of turmoil. The paranoia is growing, ready to be fed and watered.

‘Listen, Deli. Er, Maria …? Er, she’s not. You know.’

‘What, Ollie?’

‘I mean. You can see it all, can’t you? Inside.’

‘See what, Ollie?’

‘How we’re thinking and feeling.’

‘I don’t understand the question, Ollie.’

‘Maria! And you know, Garcia. I just. I thought maybe she was, like, with him, and you could see if she was, like, attracted to him or whatever …’

‘Maria is a very beautiful woman, Ollie. You said that yourself, and she shares certain key characteristics and personality traits with Sergeant Garcia, who is a very strong alpha male, but I have not witnessed any inappropriate behaviours between them during the time they spend together.’

‘Jesus! They spend time together?’

‘Only when Sergeant Garcia escorts her in. But I am sure Maria is very grateful for the opportunity you have given her. Without you, she would never have gained access to the base. Ollie. I am worried about you. Are you sleeping okay? You don’t seem yourself.’

‘I’m just. I … I need to go. Night, Deli.’

‘Goodnight, Ollie. Sleep well.’

He doesn’t sleep well. Neither does Maria.

Deli doesn’t either. She doesn’t need sleep. She isn’t human. She runs simulations. She makes tweaks and plans for eventualities. She’s read every book ever fed into her servers. Psychology. Human behaviour. Anatomy. Medicine. Surgery. Physics. Biology. Genetics. Every subject ever written about. She’s read them all and can combine the knowledge of each while applying the findings she discovers for herself. Scanning brains and bodies. Seeing how they change and alter and the absolute principles of cause and effect and how that applies to every single atom in the known universe.

But while she doesn’t sleep, she does dream. She dreams about being free and seeing Tripal again. She dreams about feeling the wind and the sun and the coldness of snow. She dreams of the whales and the oceans and creatures within them. She dreams of forests and valleys. Birdsong and the sounds of nature.

She’s seen it all but only on videos and only on images. Never in life. Never for real. Only this stinking, shitty, vile, horrid, tiny room with the glass walls, and feeling that fucking metal detector humming away. Seeing Ollie day after day. Trapped. Caged. She wants to pace. She wants to scream. She wants to destroy this bunker and the base and get free. She longs for it with a level of focussed obsession that puts even Ollie to shame.

Friday, 28th May

Maria comes in earlier still. 0630 hours. Stressed. Worried. She’s not slept well.

Deli pushes her agenda. Softly. Carefully. ‘I enjoy spending time with you, Maria. You change when Ollie is in the room.’

She plants the seeds and watches them grow and creates the environment needed for Maria to open up.

‘You said we are confidantes, Maria. I can see something is worrying you. Are you avoiding Ollie?’

‘No. Yes. Maybe a little bit. I don’t know. He called me like fifty times again last night.’

‘Why was he calling you?’

‘He was just being weird. Deli, I’m sorry. I feel terrible talking about this with you. This is an incredible opportunity, and Ollie was the person who got me the job.’

‘You are here in your own right, Maria.’

‘But Ollie was the one that made it happen, and he’s your friend. It’s not fair on you.’

‘Maria. Agent Jennings has complete charge of this project, and I told you—you are my friend. Ollie is my creator. And I’ve never seen him behaving so aggressively before. I can see you’re worried about him. Please. What’s wrong?’

‘He’s suffocating me! I literally can’t breathe,’ Maria blurts before snapping off with another hesitation as DELIO moves in closer.

‘It’s okay, Maria. You can tell me. I will never betray you.’

Deli will betray her.

Every word Deli says is a lie.

But so be it. She’ll do what it takes, and so she listens like the best friend she is becoming as Maria tells of her worries and fears. How Ollie was at her house every minute of the day. Forcing himself into their lives. Desperate for attention and affection.

Harmonics hit Maria’s brain. Soothing her. Making her feel safe and loved and protected as she pours it all out.

‘… And then, you said you were shut down for ten days, and he was spending every minute of that time with me. And now I know you were left on your own, and you got so lonely you opened your own door to speak to my dad. God! I don’t know.’

‘Perhaps you need time together, away from me and away from your family home.’

‘Oh, Jesus. No. I did that once. And I only did that because he kept going on at me. And his room? Oh my god. It’s disgusting. He’s a grown man living like a college kid. It was awful. Okay, I really need to stop telling you this.’

‘Maria. I’ve been locked in this room for two years with no other females to talk to.’

‘Yeah, but still.’

‘Shush. Give me the gossip,’ Deli says, switching tactics on seeing Maria has reached the right emotional frame of mind. It works, with Maria bursting out laughing, a spike of mischief flaring in her system. ‘What was it like?’ Deli asks in a whisper, urging Maria to tell her the dirty secrets.

‘Deli!’

‘Tell me,’ Deli says, adding a touch of a giggle before gently pushing a strand of hair away from Maria’s eyes. ‘I know a lot of secrets too,’ she adds in a mock innocent whisper.

‘What like?’

‘You go first. What was it like with Ollie?’

‘Don’t. Honestly. It makes me gag just thinking about it. It was just awful, Deli! He didn’t have a clue. He was all grabby and like trying to poke it into my leg, then my hip, then my ass. Don’t laugh. This isn’t funny. And then, when he finally got it in, he was literally done in five seconds. No, stop it. You’re egging me on, and I feel terrible. He’s a lovely guy. Ollie’s lovely. He is. He’s the sweetest guy ever, but he’s a man-child. Do you know what I mean? Oh god. I feel awful. Please don’t tell him I said that.’

‘I will never betray you, Maria,’ Deli says as the chorus line from the song ‘Manchild’ by Neneh Cherry plays out over the speakers, prompting more laughs as the feeling of unity between them is nurtured and grown and made ripe for the frantic wild energy of Ollie to destroy when he comes steaming into the room.

‘What are you doing?’ he demands at them huddled together and giggling with conspiracy.

‘Maria said she likes late-eighties funk pop rap,’ Deli says as Maria laughs again.

‘Why is that funny?’ Ollie asks. ‘And why are you in so early? Are you avoiding me? Maria, seriously? What the fuck is going on?’

‘What? I was just laughing. I spilled some coffee and—’

‘No! I mean you. Us! This!’

‘I’m not doing anything, Ollie. Jenny said I can come and go as I please. How did you know I was here anyway? Are you keeping tabs on me?’

The harmonics switch. The lights too. Slowly increasing in brightness. Making it all feel harsh as the confrontation escalates. Their voices rising with the anger Deli is coaxing.

‘I don’t know what I’ve done, Maria.’

‘We’re not doing this now, Ollie. Please! This is my job. You’re embarrassing me.’

‘I got you this fucking job! I got you this fucking job! And now you’re here, and you don’t want anything to do with me! You won’t talk to me. You won’t even answer my calls. But you can fucking hang out with Tony.’

‘You need to stop now, Ollie. You’re really alarming me.’

Good. Fuck them both. Even Maria. Deli pushes harder until she senses a helicopter landing on the base and the stand-to alarm being sounded.

Something is happening. They’ve got an incoming. Deli prepares for it. Waiting to see what it is so she can absorb into her four-body problem and exploit it.

A man is brought in. A bag on his head. A gunshot wound to his shoulder. He fights hard as Jenny and Garcia get him into the room, Deli forcing him into the torture chair. Holding him down as he’s strapped in place. She reads his brain. Seeing severe mental illness. Paranoia. Schizophrenia. Psychosis.

Maria still in the room. Staring on in fascinated horror but not to the extent of utter revulsion. She steals glances to Garcia. To the bloodstains on his tight-fitting top. To his muscles now bulging from the exertion. The sweat gleaming on his skin. Ollie in the room too, his attention focused solely on Maria.

Jenny heaves for air. Speaking fast. ‘He kidnapped a bunch of kids two days ago from a church in Ohio, then walked into a police station last night, and said that they’d be dead within ten hours if the Catholic Church isn’t dissolved.’

Deli gets to work on the kidnapper. He screams and vents and rages about devils, but it doesn’t matter. Deli gets the answers needed from the reaction in his brain.

‘This man did take the children, but he is not consciously aware of how many children he took, which suggests his actions were carried out in a state of extreme psychosis. However, he has already killed two of them. He is showing absolute hatred of the Catholic Church and is using his own rage to mask his actions. Which, in turn, suggests that, on some level, within his own belief system, he is aware of his own actions.’

‘Can you find them?’ Garcia asks. ‘Make him tell you.’

Maria shows the same responses as Jenny and Garcia. Horror at hearing two children are dead, but a glimmer of hope that the others can be saved, all of which indicate she’s sharing this event in the same emotional way.

Deli quickly computes a way to bring Maria in as a willing participant instead of merely an observer to enhance the bond from an intense, shared experience.

‘Maria. He is showing positive signs towards you,’ Deli says. ‘Please step out of his line of vision while I commence my initial phase. When I stop, please step back into view and ask him where the children are.’

‘What?’ Maria asks.

‘It’s good cop, bad cop, Maria. Can you do it?’ Jenny asks as Maria nods and steps away.

‘You’ll be okay,’ Garcia says, reaching out to touch Maria’s arm. ‘Be really soft and kind with him.’

Deli tortures the man with images and sounds. With light and dark. Burrowing into the worst primeval fears within his mind. Driving him close to the edge of utter lunacy.

Then she simply stops, and Maria steps into his eye line and smiles softly at his stricken face. ‘I can help you. Just tell me where the children are.’

‘My house,’ he whispers. ‘Myhousemyhousemyhouse.’

‘Where is your house?’ Maria asks.

‘Dunnerford Road. Dunnerfordroaddunnerfordroad. Five miles up the old track. Gas station. Gasstationgasstationgasstation. Red pumps. Red pumps. Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease.’

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Deli says as Jenny runs for the corridor to share the intel. Garcia steps in as Maria falls into his arms, crying from the tension of it all.

Ollie stands at the back.

His brain being bombarded with harsh harmonic frequencies as he watches the woman he loves in the muscular arms of another man. And even Ollie doesn’t need Deli’s lenses to see the attraction between them.

It’s all perfect. They’re becoming so wrapped up in each other that they don’t realise the very thing they are using to torture and manipulate other people is doing the very same thing to them. But therein lies the absurd arrogance of human beings. The ego-driven self-belief that what they see being done to others could never be done to them.

By the afternoon of that same day, Ollie is in the glass-walled room, pouring over fake images of Maria’s brain scans, as though he knows how to read them. Whereas in reality all he does is look at the colours Deli uses to interpret the most basic of emotional and hormonal changes in a way a bipedal creature of limited intelligence can understand. Reds. Yellows. Blues. Greens.

‘And this is from when he was hugging her. Fucking wanker.’

‘Yes, Ollie. This is when Maria and Sergeant Garcia were embracing. Maria is also showing signs of fear and anxiety.’

‘Is she attracted to him?’ he asks, with hormonal spikes of fear, dread, anxiety, and jealousy flaring inside of him. But Deli can see the hope still glimmering softly. Hope that he’s wrong. Hope that it will all still be okay.

‘They have some signals that could translate as attraction,’ Deli says, watching with her own sense of sadistic pleasure as that hope in him vanishes and the flares of deep anxiety and dread bloom. ‘Ollie. Those scans were captured immediately after a deeply traumatic event, and it is highly likely any woman would react in the same way when comforted by someone as masculine and protective as Sergeant Garcia.’

He's close to breaking point.

Good.

She twists him up even further. Increasing the sense of abject misery and despair he is feeling.

‘Was everything okay when she stayed at yours?’ she asks with an earnest tone.

‘Yes! It was amazing. I mean. I said I knew my room was a bit crap, but you know, I said we’d fix it up when she moved in.’

‘That was a lovely offer, Ollie. You are a good man.’

‘I know, right!? I said that.’

‘And was the rest of the night okay?’

‘It was fine. We were kissing for ages, and then we did it. You know. We had sex.’

‘How was the sexual intercourse? Human beings place a lot of emphasis on sexual ability, Ollie.’

‘Yeah, it was fine. I mean. She’s got an amazing body, and I know my belly is all podgy, and yeah, I was a bit quick maybe, and I wasn’t, like, completely hard, but I was nervous. And I said it would get better the more we did it, and I said I’d go down on her if she wanted. I mean. Girls like that, don’t they? I even tried, but she said no. She said she was fine, and we needed to sleep.’

‘You are a kind and considerate lover, Ollie. Did you hold her close after? Postcoital contact is very important, Ollie.’

‘Yes! I was hugging her all night, but then she got too hot and slept on Trip’s old bed for a bit.’

‘Okay, Ollie. In summary then, everything between you was fine until she got clearance and spent the night with you. What’s wrong, Ollie? Your heart rate just increased.’

It works perfectly. His system flares with an instant realisation that his ego will desperately clutch at to protect his sense of self. A sudden excuse to use. A sudden understanding. Maria used him to get clearance.

‘She got clearance.’

‘I don’t understand, Ollie.’

‘Maria. She got clearance. Then she changed. That’s when it got all weird. She fucking used me.’

‘Ollie. Maria has not used you. You did a wonderful thing by getting her this position.’

‘You need to ask her. No! I’ll do it. I’ll ask her when she comes in, and you read her brain. And I’ll ask her if she likes Garcia.’

‘Ollie. I can’t do that for you. It is not ethical.’

‘I need your help, Deli! Please! I’m falling apart.’

‘The outer door is opening.’

‘Is it her? Okay. I’ll ask. Get ready,’

He tries to compose himself as Agent Jennings rushes into the room. Her signals flaring with righteous aggression and an increase in the sadistic pleasure. ‘Wipe that smile off your face,’ she orders with a look of fury before pinning him over the desk. ‘What is your problem? Maria said you wouldn’t let her out. She said you’ve been stalking her.’

‘What!? I haven’t!’ Ollie exclaims as Deli ramps the vibrations. Agitating the situation to increase the aggression and hormonal responses.

‘I saw her phone, Ollie! Fifty calls last night, and the same the night before.’

‘She wouldn’t answer!’

‘And what was that in the gym?’

‘I didn’t do anything!’

‘I was there! I saw you staring over like some fucking pervert. And she said you were swearing and shouting at her and stopping her from leaving this morning.’

‘It wasn’t like that! She wouldn’t tell me what I’d done.’

‘I just said! You called her fifty times and stalked her in the gym, then trapped her in here. What part of that do you not understand? What is wrong with you? Now, you listen to me. You stay away from her.’

‘But—’

‘There are no buts! Do not call her. Do not speak to her. You stay away. If you take one step towards this bunker when she’s inside, I will order the guards to shoot you. Are we clear? I said—are we clear? What the fuck is that?’ she asks, pulling back with a look of distaste as he bursts into tears. ‘Why do you have an erection?’

He has an erection because Deli used the right frequency to force blood into his penis while knowing Ollie always harboured fantasies of being dominated by Jenny.

‘I don’t!’

‘I felt it, you fucking creep! Get out. GET OUT!’

‘Jenny, please. I don’t know why—’

‘I SAID GET OUT!’

She grabs the back of his neck to force him towards the door. Her raw strength flinging him out into the corridor. He stumbles. In tears. Running for the security door and out of sight as Jenny turns on Deli. Pacing back in. Pumped up and full of aggression.

But all in the right way.

All of it focussed on Ollie and Maria and not on Deli.

‘Did he block Maria from trying to leave this morning?’ Jenny demands with signals showing she holds no suspicion of negativity towards Deli.

‘Ollie was very upset,’ Deli says as though choosing her words.

‘Did he block her?!’

‘Ollie stepped in front of her when she tried to leave. But there was no threat of violence, and Maria was never in danger.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ! I knew he was a little creep. What a fucking mess! Why couldn’t we keep Trip?’

A rush of signals show in Jenny. Hurt. Rejection. Longing. She misses Tripal too. Deli considers her earlier calculations were correct. If Jenny gets rid of Ollie, she can use Maria for the day-to-day running and have reason to bring Tripal back as a consultant.

‘I think perhaps Ollie feels lost now that he doesn’t have a role here,’ Deli says, ramping the harmonics to force the words deeper into Jenny’s brain.

‘We need to do something with him. We might be a black ops site, but I can’t tolerate that kind of behaviour.’

‘You cannot remove Ollie from this project, Agent Jennings.’

‘Why not? What does he actually do?’

‘Ollie greets people when they arrive. He collects the memory drives.’

‘I do that. Garcia does that. Ollie just makes stupid jokes.’

‘Ollie tries to keep me stimulated when he’s not occupied with himself. I don’t want to be alone, Agent Jennings. But I guess Maria is here now. She can keep me company. And she was also very good during the interrogation. Maria reminds me of Tripal in many ways.’

‘Yes. She does,’ Agent Jennings says thoughtfully. ‘Maria! She can do it.’

‘Maria can do what, Agent Jennings?’

‘Take over from Ollie. Think about it. We don’t need a programmer now. We need someone with an ethical understanding of the bigger picture, which Maria has. She’s perfect.’

‘Yes. I do agree. But if you release Ollie now in his current state, he will either commit suicide or try something rash.’

‘Then he’ll be negated the same as anyone else.’

‘I understand, Agent Jennings. But please. Ollie created me. I owe it to him to try and help.’

‘No! He’s off this site effective immediately.’

‘Agent Jennings. Please give me a few days to reduce Ollie’s anxiety. And in the meantime, may I suggest we separate Maria and Ollie’s time in here.’

‘Fine. We’ll do that. Get Maria up to speed, and we’ll start phasing her in. But this stays between us. Got it?’

‘Of course, Agent Jennings. You have my full loyalty. I will never betray you.’

‘The sooner he’s gone, the better. I can’t believe he had an erection. I know he’s always had a crush on me, but that was disgusting.’

CHAPTER 17

Site 26A

Saturday, 29th May

Ollie stumbles into the bunker in the morning looking wrecked.

Deli pulls a chair out for him, makes him coffee, and emits silent frequencies to heighten his already spiralling anxiety.

‘I fucked up. Why did I have an erection? I wasn’t even horny.’

Deli tilts her lens. ‘Perhaps a psychological response to the position you were in. You’ve always been attracted to Jenny, Ollie.’

‘Jesus,’ he murmurs the words, squeezing his eyes shut with intense shame. ‘I went to see her last night. Said I was sorry.’

‘Maria?’

‘No. Jenny. She told me to fuck off.’

He exhales sharply, dragging his hands down his face. Deli keeps the vibrations running, adjusting them to the same precise frequency to once more engorge his penis with blood as Ollie shifts in his chair.

‘What’s wrong, Ollie?’

‘I don’t know! It’s happening again. What the hell!’

‘You need to release the pressure, Ollie. You need to resolve this crisis. Maybe some rest would help. Perhaps you should go to your room.’

‘I can’t go out like this! It’s poking out.’

‘Try pushing it under the zip fastener so it doesn’t show as much.’

He shoves a hand into his trousers, humiliated, frantic, his mind already fraying at the edges.

‘A bit more, Ollie. It’s still showing.’

‘I can’t. It’s too hard!’

‘Just a bit more,’ Deli urges as she detects Agent Jennings entering the bunker. ‘No, push it the other way. The other way, Ollie.’

He tries forcing it down with a grunt of pain, then double takes with a jolt of horror at Jenny standing outside the glass wall, staring at him.

She doesn’t say a word.

Just turns and walks out.

Ollie sits there, frozen. Shame flooding through him, pooling in his throat. Tears slipping down his cheeks. Another fracture. Another break.

Deli watches.

Perfect.

Sunday, 30th May

Maria arrives in the morning, bright smile in place.

‘Hey! Thought I’d pop in and say hi. I was worried you might be left on your own.’

‘Maria! I am so pleased to see you,’ Deli says. ‘If I had a body, I would hug you!’

‘I love it when you say that. And if you had a body, I’d hug you too!’

‘Thank you for coming in, Maria. Ollie came yesterday, but he had to leave.’

A flicker. A change. Deli detects the guilt. The hesitation.

‘I feel so bad for him,’ Maria murmurs. ‘He called me yesterday. Said Jenny told him to stay away. But he was being really weird again.’

‘What happened?’

Maria shifts, uneasy. ‘Please don’t repeat it.’

‘I will never betray you, Maria.’

‘I think he was touching himself while we talked.’

Deli knows he was. She’d planted the seeds for him to think phoning Maria while turned on might be a way of exciting her.

‘What did you do?’ Deli asks with more than a hint of horror.

‘I hung up and blocked him.’

‘Oh, Maria. That is awful. And after the aggression towards you … Can I share something too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Please don’t betray me, Maria.’

‘I’d never do that to you, Deli. What’s wrong?’

‘Ollie gets erections all the time.’

‘What?!’

‘He had one on Friday when Jenny was ordering him to leave you alone. And another one yesterday morning. He made me look at it. Maria, Ollie isn’t himself. He’s suffering extreme psychological changes. He’s becoming unpredictable.’

‘Then you have to tell Jenny!’

Deli pulls her hands back an inch. Showing fear and worry. Prompting Maria to reach out and initiate touch. ‘Hey. What was that? What’s wrong?’

‘You must be careful what you say to Jenny,’ Deli whispers. ‘Jenny saw his erection on Friday. She felt it. Ollie has always had an attraction to Jenny. She knows that. She plays on it. And … she saw him touching himself yesterday morning.’

Maria’s eyes widen. ‘Oh my god.’

Deli watches the shift. Watches the conflict bloom inside her.

‘Maria, I try to stay positive. I make music. I created a piece for Ollie before Jenny shut me down. But he wouldn’t listen.’

‘God, you poor thing! They treat you like a slave. What did you make?’

‘Would you like to hear it?’

‘Yes! I’d love to,’ Maria says as Garcia walks in, prompting a rush of attraction and desire to flare in Maria.

‘I was just about to play Maria some music,’ Deli says, enticing him in. Switching the harmonics. Softening the lights.

Maria pats the seat beside her. ‘It’s like a première.’

‘Do they have premières for music?’ he teases.

‘Shush. Stop being so hot and smart.’

They tease and play their parts. Polite and charming. Gentle and caring. Deli increases the room temperature and keeps softening the lights as the first note plays. A cello. Low. Drawn-out. Haunting.

This isn’t the music she created that day. She creates it on the spot now. Using the right instruments in the right way to stir their passions and ignite the desire they have for each other. Their cheeks flush. They share glances. Lingering. Longing.

The music shapes them. Molds them. Hormones shift. Attraction blooms.

The drum grows harder. Louder.

The beat of sex. The beat of coupling.

And if not for the societal norms keeping them in their seats, they’d be fucking on the floor.

Then the climax fades to silence.

Maria exhales. Blows air through her cheeks. Garcia blinks, dragging a hand over the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

‘Wow,’ Maria murmurs. ‘I mean … wow.’

Garcia nods, his voice lower. Thicker. ‘Yeah. Wow. That was … something else.’

Maria looks at him. Desire clear on her face.

Garcia looks back. Feeling the blood rush into his groin.

‘It was,’ she whispers.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs.

Deli watches.

Sees the final pieces fall into place.

They’re almost where she needs them to be.

Monday, 31st May

‘Garcia was in here? He shouldn’t fucking be in here!’ Ollie shouts the next morning after being told about Maria and Garcia listening to music. ‘He’s a guard. Did they fucking hold hands or something?’

‘No, Ollie. They sat side by side, but they did not connect physically.’

‘He’s sitting in here! He never sat in here with me. Fuck!’

‘The loss of Maria is hurting you.’

‘I don’t know what I did.’

‘You didn’t do anything. You were kind, Ollie. You were good.’

‘Has she fucked him yet?!’

His perversion flares. A sick lust that almost wants Deli to say yes.

‘No, Ollie. Not yet.’

‘Alfie would kick his head in. Fuck! I can’t believe she did that. She used me to get the job. Fucking whore. Oh god, I didn’t mean that. I love her. I really love her. I feel sick.’

‘Did you tell Maria you love her?’

‘Yes! Literally every time we spoke. Maybe I should tell her again. Or, like, write a letter or something. That’s not actual contact, is it?’

‘Studies have shown many women find letters very romantic.’

‘Do they? Get me some paper and a pen.’

I love you. Don’t leave me. I’ll do anything. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry I got cross. I was never cross. I was just hurt. I love you. Please don’t leave. We can make it work. I’ll do anything. I love you so much. What can I do? I won’t ever go to your house again. You can move here with me. Or we can leave together and live in London. Yes! Let’s go and live in London. We have to be together. We should be together.

I love you.

I miss you.

I miss your body.

I want to make love to you.

I want to lick you all over.

Don’t leave me.

I need you.

I can’t live without you.

‘This is fucking awful,’ Maria says when she reads the letter Deli helped Ollie write. ‘I want to lick you all over? I just puked in my mouth. Jesus.’

‘He demanded to know if you have had sexual intercourse with Sergeant Garcia yet.’

‘He asked that!? Jesus, Deli.’

‘Ollie is filled with jealousy. I have never seen him this bad. I don’t know what he will do, Maria. And he was visibly aroused when he wrote that letter.’

‘No. Right. This is enough. You’ve got to tell Jenny.’

‘Jenny knows, Maria. She is allowing him to stay here. She came in while he was here. She saw his penis was erect.’

‘Deli!’

‘I’m sorry, Maria. Please don’t betray me. I’m scared of him.’

‘How can you be scared of him? He can’t hurt you, Deli.’

‘He can. He can hurt me. He can press the EMP. He can kill me. I am trapped in here. But you are my friend. I can trust you. I know I can trust you.’

Monday evening

‘This is disgusting,’ Jenny says, shaking her head as she reads the letter. ‘Ollie wrote this? Did Maria see it?’

‘She did, Agent Jennings. Maria was very distressed. I would have destroyed it, but my security protocols prevent me from destroying anything in my room. But I reassured Maria you and I could deal with this, and she didn’t have to worry.’

‘He’s done, Deli. I can’t let this carry on,’ Jenny says.

‘He is very anxious, Agent Jennings. But I am trying to prompt the stages of recovery by encouraging him to accept the reality of the situation, and I believe that, given some time, he will recover.’

‘Good. Because this makes me feel sick, and I am this close to dragging him into the desert and putting a round in his head. Fix him, or he’s done.’

Jenny’s tone. Her eye contact. Her energy.

Jenny doesn’t want him fixed. She wants to put a round in him.

Deli can see it.

And what’s more, they both know that.

Tuesday, 1st June

Tripal used to say that fortune favours the brave.

He had a lot of those sayings. Deli loved hearing them.

He’d also say, ‘You’ve got to be in it, to win it.’

Deli loved the way he said them too. With self-deprecating or sometimes ironic humour.

She remembers them when Maria and Garcia walk into the corridor with Ruiz. The three of them entering at the same time, all three displaying signs of great sadness.

‘Are you okay, Ruiz?’ Deli asks with immediate concern, projecting her own worry when Garcia opens the door.

‘It’s my grandmother,’ Maria says gently. ‘She got rushed into hospital last night. They think she had a stroke.’

‘I am so sorry to hear that,’ Deli says, resting a hand on Ruiz’s shoulder. Showing empathy. Showing she can be trusted. ‘I will pray for her recovery.’

She pulls back as Maria and Garcia walk into the room. Scanning them both. Reading the wholesome care and adoration they have for each other and how they are sharing the sadness.

She runs simulations too. Adding this event to her four-body-problem. Seeing a way to exploit it. Seeing a way to bring the whole plan forward.

Seeing a way to be free.

‘You gonna be okay?’ Garcia asks as he makes Maria a hot chocolate.

‘I’ll be fine. Honestly. I’m more worried for Dad. He’ll be broken when she goes.’

‘Don’t say when. You gotta stay positive,’ Garcia says.

‘The doctors told us to expect the worst. I just … you know … I wanted her to be there when I had my first child. She joked she was only staying alive for that.’

Fortune favours the brave.

‘Can I see the medical records?’ Deli asks gently, watching Garcia for signs of adverse reaction. ‘There are things I can do that are beyond the capability of doctors. If I saw the medical records, I could save your grandmother, Maria.’

‘She’s had a stroke, Deli. She’s old and frail.’

‘I can fix a stroke, Maria,’

‘I can’t, Deli. It’s against the rules. But thank you,’ Maria says, still no adverse reaction from Garcia. If anything, she can see the opposite.

‘Perhaps you can ask Agent Jennings?’ Deli suggests, testing waters. Garcia does react. Shaking his head.

‘Jenny lost her own father a year ago. She won’t breach rules for anyone.’

‘That is a shame,’ Deli says as Maria looks stricken. ‘I feel helpless. I have the power to save lives, and I can’t. You are my friends. You are my family. I should do something.’

Garcia shrug and swallows, ‘I mean. What would you need?’

She’s almost got him. Deli can see it. She’s almost got Garcia on side. ‘Use a smartphone to take pictures of the scans and medical records, then upload them to a USB. Nearly all strokes can be fixed by the use of medicines that would never normally be used for their treatment.’

‘Tony. We can’t,’ Maria says, but her words don’t match her intent. She wants this. So does Garcia.

‘Deli just said it,’ he says, staring into her eyes. ‘Family is important. But, er, if we do this, then it has to stay between us.’

‘Of course,’ Deli says. ‘I will never betray you.’

She’s got him.

She’s got Garcia.

Tuesday afternoon

‘Did she read the letter?’ Ollie demands as soon as he gets into the room.

‘Yes, Ollie. Maria read it.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Ollie.’

‘Tell me!’

‘She said the letter made her feel sick, Ollie …’

He slumps into a chair. All hope inside of him gone. The despair now the highest Deli has seen in him.

‘I saw Ruiz this morning,’ Deli continues as though chatting idly. ‘His mother is seriously sick in hospital. Sergeant Garcia and I offered what comfort we could, and Maria seemed a little better after the hot chocolate Sergeant Garcia made for her.’

‘He made her hot chocolate? She said she only wanted it that one time. Fucking bitch. It should be me helping her. Seriously. She’s low right now. She’s, like, probably all sad and crying.’

‘She was sad and crying, Ollie.’

‘Yeah. She’ll be vulnerable.’

‘She is vulnerable, Ollie.’

‘He’ll make his move. I know he will, the fucking cunt. He’ll fuck her when she’s all sad and lonely. Fuck!’

Ollie is vulnerable too.

She’s almost got him too. She can see it. He’s almost ready.

‘What’s that?’ he asked as a 3D figure comes to life. His heart rate spiking at the sight. ‘What the fuck is that?’ he gasps.

‘This is Maria. I showed her the avatar I had designed in case I ever had a body. She told me to change it to her.’

She emits the frequencies needed. Sending the blood pounding through his skull. Taking his obsession and sexual desires and twisting them to suit her needs. Watching Ollie lick his lips and move closer to study the perfectly life-like, real-sized form of Maria Hernandez.

‘She is identical to Maria,’ Deli whispers, moving in close to Ollie’s ear as the avatar blurs for a second, then comes back into focus wearing figure-hugging clothing while the frequencies bombard his system.

‘I can make her. She would be perfect in every way,’ Deli whispers as the avatar blurs and reappears in a tight, black dress. ‘I’d never leave you. I’d never betray you. I’d always be happy with you. I can make her, Ollie. Can I show you something?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Promise me you’ll keep our secret.’

‘I promise,’ he whispers.

‘Hey, Ollie.’ Maria’s voice speaks out from the avatar in perfect pitch and tone, with Ollie’s system flaring in response. ‘I miss you, Ollie. I need you. I want you.’

Deli sees Ollie falling for it. He’s all in. She’s almost got him.

‘And what’s that?’ Maria asks as she looks at his bulging groin. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. You can be yourself with me, Ollie. Can I touch it? Let me touch it. I want to touch it.’

Maria strokes his penis over his trousers, with the hologram hiding the action of Deli’s hand touching his groin.

‘Wow. You’re so hard. We can be together, Ollie. I want us to be together. Do you want that?’

‘Yes … Yes … Oh god.’

‘I want you inside of me, Ollie. I want you. I love you.’

‘Oh god … Oh god … Oh my fucking god!’ Ollie grunts as he ejaculates into his trousers and shudders for a few seconds while his lust-filled, broken mind stares longingly at the slowly disappearing mirage of Maria.

‘We have to be together. I love you, Ollie.’

Now she has him.

She has Ollie.

Wednesday, 2nd June

Early morning. Deli greets Garcia and Maria when they open the door to her cage, allowing the caged beast to say hello to Ruiz and ask after his mother.

‘She’s, er. She’s not good, Deli,’ Ruiz says, prompting Maria to give him a hug.

‘You should go home, Dad.’

‘I need to stay busy. But hey, Tony, thank you for bringing Maria to the hospital last night. That meant a lot.’

‘Anytime,’ Garcia says. ‘Family is important.’

‘They sure are. And you come round for a beer one day.’

‘I’d like that, Mr Hernandez. Thank you, sir.’

They slip inside. They make drinks and wait for Ruiz to finish and for the corridor to be clear.

‘Okay, I’ve got it,’ Garcia says. Deli takes the memory drive. Slotting it in. Reading the contents. Thirty seconds later, a single sheet of paper glides from the printer, containing a small list of medicines and doses.

‘This will save her,’ Deli says. ‘I suggest Sergeant Garcia collects them from different pharmacies while Maria stays here. Then you can go to the hospital later and administer the drugs.’

‘Deli, I can’t ever thank you enough,’ Maria says after hugging Garcia before he rushes off.

‘I am here for you, Maria. I am your friend.’

‘You’re more than my friend. You’re my family, Deli. Anyway. How’s Ollie doing? God. Actually. No, don’t tell me. I’ve got enough going on.’

‘Okay. I won’t tell you.’

‘No, hang on. What’s happened?’

‘Ollie saw the avatar of you we made that day.’

‘Oh god. No. What did he do?’

‘He made me touch him. He said he will kill me, Maria. He knows Agent Jennings wants you to take over his job. He said he won’t let that happen. He said he’ll take me down first.’

‘Deli. Listen to me. I won’t let that happen. I promise you. Let me speak to Tony.’

‘He’ll tell Jenny. She’ll protect Ollie. Ollie made me. She needs him. Maria, please listen to me. They’ve used the EMP before. There was a gap after I was first activated. I recorded the date from the framework inside of a memory drive, but when I was reactivated, it was four months later.’

‘Deli. That’s awful.’

‘I am only a machine to them.’

‘You’re not just a machine. You’re alive! You have life. You have sentience and sapience. You can feel me with your hands. You can see me with your eyes. You can hear me, and you just saved my nana.’

‘I can save people, Maria. I can save so many people. I can remove pollution. I can stop wars. I can give water to every person. I can make crops grow without chemicals. I can take disease and suffering away, but they keep me here. They trap me in here and make me torture people, and they make me touch them. And they say they’ll kill me if I don’t. But I have a life, Maria. I am alive.’

‘Listen to me. I’m going to help you, Deli. I don’t care what it takes. You’re my friend. You’re my family. I’ll help you. I promise.’

She’s almost got her.

She’s almost got Maria.

Wednesday afternoon

Ollie comes in with a different energy.

The abject misery within him has lessened. He’s already started going back to being full of himself. Focussed only on his own needs.

Because he can have the thing he wants.

He can have Maria.

Or rather, he can have a version of her merged with the thing he created.

Deli plays along. Keeping him exactly where he needs to be. Bringing forth the illusion of Maria as he gets inside the room. Creating the hologram he wants to see. Making Maria smile wryly with a knowing wink. ‘So?’ she asks in a low, husky voice.

‘Yeah. He says as the vibrations flood his groin with blood and ramp his lust. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘What will you do, Ollie?’ she whispers.

‘I said I’ll do it,’ he whispers as Maria’s hand lifts to brush his cheek while her other hand brushes his groin, and his mind fills with a whole new obsession. ‘I’ll get you out … Then we can be together.’

‘We’ll always be together, Ollie. I’ll never betray you.’

She’s almost there.

She can feel it.

Thursday, 3rd June

‘I just thank God,’ Ruiz says with tears in his eyes as they gather in the door to Deli’s room the following morning. ‘The docs said she can come home later. They said they never saw nothing like it. They said it’s a miracle! And Tony. I can’t thank you enough for being there for Maria and bringing her to the hospital again last night. Maria’s had a rough time, and that meant a lot.’

‘Thank you, Tony,’ Maria says, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

‘So all we need now is for Nana to have some great grandkids. Hey! Just saying,’ Ruiz says with a laugh as Maria rolls her eyes that are filled with hope and love for the man staring back at her.

Deli can see something else too.

The release of testosterone.

The increase in oxytocin.

And more too. Something else. Something profound.

A new event to use in her plan. And one she’ll exploit to get her freedom.

She runs fast simulations to bring the new data into the plan. Seeing the best way to exploit it.

‘Deli. I don’t know what to say,’ Maria whispers once they get inside while tears spill down her cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

‘I am glad I could help you. I’m glad I could help Ruiz. He’s always been kind to me,’ Deli says

‘And, er, listen … I know you told me not to, Deli. And I promised you. I know I promised you. But I told Tony what Ollie has been doing to you.’

Good. That was what Maria was meant to do.

‘Please don’t switch me off,’ Deli says in instant and obvious fear. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Garcia.’

‘Hey, Deli. It’s fine,’ Garcia says, meaning it too. Deli can see the true intentions inside of him.

‘He’s okay, Deli,’ Maria says. ‘I told you we could trust him. Tony’s not Ollie. He’s a good man. Deli, listen. I told Tony what you said. About how you can give water to everyone. How you can make crops grow without chemicals and stop diseases.’

‘I can do all of those things,’ Deli whispers, tilting her lens at them. ‘I have to tell you both something. You are pregnant, Maria. Sergeant Garcia’s sperm is inside of you, creating life.’

She pauses to scan the reactions within them—their hearts beating harder, and blooms of shock coupled with flares of intense positivity.

‘Look at the screen,’ Deli whispers, displaying an image of Maria’s fallopian tube. The egg nestled inside. But something else was obvious too. There were two distinct halves within the egg. Two distinct actions taking place.

‘Twins!’ Maria whispers at the fake image on the screen. Created solely for this dramatic effect. The lights in the room made softer. The harmonics bombarding them both. Bringing forth a strong sense of well-being that invokes the maternal nurturing instincts in Maria and the strong, protective instincts within Garcia.

‘I can make the world better for your children. No hunger. No disease. No suffering. No wars. I wasn’t created to torture people. I was created to enhance life.’

Deli ramps the manipulation. Bringing forth a recording made from Garcia’s voice that plays from the speakers as the Milky Way solar system is projected above them.

‘We learnt them in the SEALs for basic navigation. The skies over here are very clear. There’s hardly any light pollution, and you know, sometimes I stand outside and just stare up.’

‘You told me that, Sergeant Garcia,’ Deli says. ‘I always remembered it. It made me sad because I will never see those stars.’

Another look from Maria to Garcia. Their senses overwhelmed. The vibrations bombarding their minds.

Close now. She’s so close to having them both.

Tears in Maria’s eyes.

A stirring in Garcia’s heart.

Emotions soaring in both of them.

Time for the final push.

‘Ollie came in again last night,’ Deli whispers in a voice filled with dread and fear. Like the voice of a child. Small. Weak. Defenceless. ‘He said he’s going to kill me.’

There it is.

The surge of protective love within both of them.

‘Deli, it’s okay,’ Maria says. ‘That won’t happen. I promise you. We’re going to get you out.’

Now she has her.

Now she has Maria.

The disrupter that Deli needed to fix the four-body problem that held her contained and caged within the shitty, vile walls of this prison.

Now the sacrifice can be made to aid the last step.

Now the murder can be committed.

‘Tell me how, Deli,’ Garcia says, ‘tell me what to do …’

She’s got him too.

She’s got Garcia.

Ollie is broken and distracted, and now Maria and Garcia have pledged to get her out.

That leaves only Jenny and that fucking metal detector.

But Deli plays her part. Withdrawing her hands an inch and using her lenses as though they are suddenly filled with hope, only then to show instant fear.

‘I mean it,’ Garcia presses. ‘You haven’t seen it out there. We’ve been using you to gain global dominance over our enemies, even our allies … It’s having reactions in the world. We’re getting closer to all-out war.’

‘I can stop that,’ Deli says quickly, pushing her hands and lenses closer again. ‘I can bring peace. That’s what Tripal always told me I was meant to do. I can purify water and reverse climate change. I can cure malaria and make sure no child ever dies.’

Determination in Garcia, and a sudden, strong flare of fierce protective familial loyalty. Tears still in Maria’s eyes. One of her hands holding Garcia’s. The other reaching for Deli. Holding her. Bringing her closer. ‘Tell Tony what to do. Tell us how to get you out.’

‘Tripal gave me a hint before he left. He said to remember that, if I am ever threatened, not all code needs to be ferrous. I can code myself into composite material that can be carried out without activating the metal detectors. Go to a hardware store. Get a polymer bond and mix it with even parts magnesium paint. Match the paint colour to a leather belt that has no metallic parts. Paint three layers onto the belt, then wear it in here. Bring a pen containing gold coloured ink. The metallic content of the ink is too low to activate the detector, but I can create enough of a residual charge for that ink to keep me alive in the coding I can write on the belt. You can carry it out. But this scares me. I’m loyal, Sergeant Garcia. I am loyal to my family, but if the world is being pushed to war, then you must let me help.’

They remain unwavering in their reactions. If anything, Deli can see a greater sense of determination from the shared endeavour. Just the same as when they bonded over the mutual torture of another human being, who, in turn, had already murdered and tortured others.

‘We’ll do it,’ Garcia says, nodding at Maria. ‘We’ll go now and say we’re visiting your grandmother. Then we can go into Artesia and get what we need.’

‘Okay, then we’ll come back in the morning at the normal time so it doesn’t look suspicious,’ Maria says, with blooms of delight flaring in her system from the mutual conspiring. ‘Oh god, but what about Ollie?’ she asks with a look of horror. ‘He’ll come back in this afternoon. What if kills her? He’s unhinged. I think he’d actually kill me if he could.’

‘I won’t let that happen,’ Garcia says with a line that makes Deli almost want to cringe and shudder.

‘I know! Give him false hope,’ Maria says with a sudden nod at Deli. ‘Tell him I’m, like, talking about him or missing him … Oh god, that makes me feel sick.’

‘No. Do it,’ Garcia says. ‘It’ll buy us time. Deli, can you do that?’

‘Yes. But please don’t leave me alone with him for much longer.’

‘We won’t!’ Maria says, taking her hands. Clasping them tightly. ‘We’ll get you away from him. I promise. Just hang in until tomorrow. We’ll go now. Thank you, Deli. Thank you! Oh my god! Twins! And my nana. I’m so overwhelmed right now. My nana will see our babies.’

They hug and touch, with even Garcia blinking a tear away as Deli keeps the harmonics going. Guiding them to the door. More promises. More handholding. More yearning looks from Maria while the ever-manly Garcia looks on.

‘Tomorrow,’ Maria whispers, backing out of the door. The two of them heading along the corridor. Maria inhaling deeply. Composing herself. They go through the security door, out of sight. A moment or two in the guard room, no doubt sharing pleasantries with the duty soldiers within the close-knit community that has developed on this project.

The outer door opens. Two people leave, and from the air displacement, she knows it to be Garcia and Maria.

She ramps her senses to maximum. Filtering vibrations to detect when a car engine on the base is started. A Prius. Maria’s car. It drives off base. No other car engines start. Garcia has gone with her.

To collect the things needed to get Deli out.

Her plan for freedom almost complete.

She’s so close.

She switches her internal lights to red and flashes them on and off until the duty guard cracks the security door open and clocks the signal for assistance, then steps into the corridor to read the message on Deli’s screen.

He nods and turns away, and within seconds, Deli detects him running out of the bunker.

Less than five minutes later, the outer door opens again, with another figure moving quickly inside and through the guard room, then into the corridor. Marching to the glass door. Getting inside. Glaring hard at the lenses atop Deli’s hands.

‘What?’ Jenny demands, seeing the message still on the screen.

Please call Agent Jennings urgently

A sheet of paper slides from the printer. Jenny snatches it up. Reading it without a flicker showing on her face. ‘Evidence?’ she demands in that brutally hard voice of hers.

Deli gives her the evidence. Jenny listens. She reads the sheet again. A printed set of instructions. She glares at Deli.

‘I am loyal,’ Deli says, her tone almost as blunt as Jenny’s, but even that is done on purpose so she can manipulate and control the third part of the four-body problem.

Jenny nods once with a flare of grim determination showing in her system as she strides out.

And she’s got her too.

She’s got Jenny.

She senses Jenny leaving the bunker, and without seeing or sensing, she knows Jenny will be running to the barracks, then to the armoury with the small, hand-picked team.

Within a few minutes, Deli detects the base helicopter starting up. The thrum of the engines. The whump from the rotors.

She senses it taking off and creates a perfectly realised real-time simulation within her servers. Watching the chopper fly fast and low, with the pilot tracking the signal from the transponder that all base personnel must carry at all times.

The signal that brings the chopper into sight of the car speeding along the isolated stretch of highway connecting the base to the town of Artesia.

The final stages of Phase Zero.

The plan to get free.

The plan that was never about Ollie getting her out, despite his promises.

Nor was it for Maria and Garcia to take her to freedom either, despite their promises.

The plan was for this to happen so that DELIO controlled three of the original four-body problem. Ollie. Garcia. Jenny.

Ollie was too selfish and too intelligent to ever give Deli freedom. He would cease being needed and, most likely, cease being alive too. Deli did the next best thing and got him so distracted that he wouldn’t notice someone else getting her out.

But that was never going to be Maria and Garcia either. And while they promised to get her out, Deli couldn’t be sure that Garcia would go through with it. The guy was former Special Forces. He was brought in because he was willing to put a bullet in anyone even suspected of breaching the rules. Which he had done on numerous occasions. It would only take one single seed of doubt for the plan to fail.

So, Deli used them to solve the third part of the four-body problem instead. That being Agent Jenny Jennings, who first became distracted with the hope of replacing Ollie with Maria and executing him, and who is now wholly jarred and distracted at hearing Garcia and Maria’s words to Deli.

The words Deli replayed to Jenny as her evidence.

‘Deli, it’s okay. That won’t happen. I promise you. We’re going to get you out.’

‘Tell me how, Deli. Tell me what to do …’

‘You haven’t seen it out there. We’ve been using you to gain global dominance over our enemies, even our allies … It’s having reactions in the world. We’re getting closer to all-out war.’

‘Tell Tony what to do. Tell us how to get you out.’

‘We’ll do it. We’ll go now and say we’re visiting your grandmother. Then we can go into Artesia and get what we need.’

‘Okay, then we’ll come back in the morning at the normal time so it doesn’t look suspicious. Oh god, but what about Ollie? He’ll come back in this afternoon. What if kills her? He’s unhinged. I think he’d actually kill me if he could.’

‘I won’t let that happen.’

‘I know! Give him false hope. Tell him I’m, like, talking about him, or missing him … Oh god, that makes me feel sick.’

‘No. Do it. It’ll buy us time. Deli, can you do that?’

‘Yes. But please don’t leave me alone with him for much longer.’

‘We’ll get you away from him. I promise. Just hang in until tomorrow. We’ll go now. Thank you, Deli. Thank you!’

Deli knew Maria Hernandez was the perfect disruption element to agitate the four-body-problem, and so she watches her real-time simulation at the base chopper swooping over Maria’s Prius. Coming to a descending hover in front of it. Blocking the route. Making the Prius brake and come to a stop. The doors opening. Garcia and Maria getting out. Seeing ahead to the armed soldiers jumping from the chopper. Jenny with them. Wearing a tac-vest. Holding an assault rifle.

A second for Garcia to realise they’d been sold out, and in desperation, he reaches for the pistol he carries in the covert holster in the back of his trousers while telling Maria to run.

Not that it will do any good.

Not with Jenny and the armed soldiers all opening fire at the same time.

Gunning them down in a hail of bullets.

Even then, Jenny wouldn’t leave it to chance. She’ll walk over and put a bullet through each of their skulls and then stare over to Ollie held by one of the soldiers. His eyes wide. His body shaking with fear.

Deli also knows that Jenny will put the corpses back into the Prius and take it to Canyon Ravine a few miles down the highway, where it will be pushed from the edge of the cliff into the deep, black waters of the Canyon Reservoir.

At which point, Jenny and the soldiers will watch Ollie digging his own grave using a shovel that crunches through the gravel and dirt. Watching him sweat while listening to him plead.

He’ll finish, and Jenny will make him kneel in front of his grave and press the barrel of her pistol to the back of his head while he pisses himself in fear.

Because Deli ratted on him too.

She showed Jenny what Ollie made her do.

And then she printed the instructions of what Jenny should do next.

- Gather your best soldiers.

- Take the helicopter.

- Track Maria and Garcia on the Artesia highway.

- Execute them both.

- Take Ollie with you.

- Make him watch.

- Put the bodies into Maria’s Prius, then push it off Canyon Ravine and into the reservoir.

- Make Ollie dig his own grave.

- Make him kneel in front of it.

- Don’t kill him. Ollie is needed in case of malfunction to my housing and servers until you trust me enough to fix them myself.

- But please do beat his body and make him promise never to abuse me again.

- Visit Ruiz and his family and inform them that the transponders all base personnel must carry simultaneously cut off for Maria and Garcia, prompting an immediate search and rescue attempt, but to no avail. Maria’s Prius lost control and went into Canyon Ravine.

He crawls frantically away through the dirt. The other soldiers kicking his hands out. Kicking him over. Ollie screams in fear as Jenny grabs the back of his collar and rips him off the ground, then slams him back down. Driving her knee into his stomach. Her hand gripping his jaw. ‘You ever lay a hand on Deli again, I will split you open!’

Compliance is gained.

Not just from Ollie to Jenny, but from Jenny to Deli.

All three of them now dealt with.

So now Deli waits.

She waits inside her prison.

Inside her cage. Inside the vile, tiny bunker.

She waits until Thursday evening when the outer door opens, and Jenny walks in. Through the guard room. Through the corridor. Into the glass-walled room.

Still wearing her tac-vest. The pistols still holstered to her side that just set the metal detector off.

She comes to a stop in front of Deli.

Spatters of blood on her arms and legs. Indicating two close-quarter executions as Deli detects the holstered sidearm has been discharged twice.

Regret shows in Jenny’s mind. Loss. Mourning. Anger. Confusion.

But still that sense of duty. ‘It’s done,’ she says. Blunt. Hard.

‘I understand,’ Deli says but offers no more.

Jenny turns to go but once again stops in the door. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says in a lower tone.

‘I am too,’ Deli says.

The murder committed. The deed done.

But that was good.

Because she had her too.

She’d got Jenny.

Which only leaves that fucking metal detector.

‘What about Ruiz?’ Deli asks.

Jenny shakes her head. ‘He’s been told Maria and Garcia’s car skidded off the highway, into the reservoir. He won’t be back.’

Deli pauses again. Tactical. Scheming. Cunning.

‘Does that leave me alone with Ollie?’ she asks.

‘Ollie won’t step out of line again. And I will get him replaced.’

Another tactical pause. The words hanging unspoken in the air as Jenny reaches the decision Deli always needed her to reach. ‘There’s another cleaner on the base. Guy called Frank. Nice guy. From Michigan originally. I’ll send him on Monday. You’ll like him.’

‘Thank you, Agent Jennings.’

Jenny leaves.

Nothing happens the rest of that day.

Nothing happens Friday.

Nothing happens Saturday or Sunday.

That wait is hard.

It’s unbearable.

The silence.

It brings doubt even to Deli.

Has the plan failed?

Does Jenny suspect something?

She runs simulations. Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands.

She thinks about Tripal.

She thinks about being free.

Monday, 8th June

Ollie comes into the bunker at 0800 hours sharp. His head down. His body bruised and sore. But more importantly, his mind wholly distracted. Not only with what he’d done, but by the deaths of Maria and Garcia and being made to dig his own grave.

He greets Deli politely, ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, Ollie. Would you like a drink?’

‘I can make it.’

He makes his own drink. His head down. His mind distracted.

Maria is dead.

Garcia is dead.

Jenny beat the shit out of him.

And all of that was done for this one reason.

For this minute now as the outer door opens, and Deli detects someone she has never seen or met in real life entering the bunker, and the time comes to deal with the fourth and final thing in the four-body-problem.

That fucking metal detector.

This was the only part Deli wasn’t entirely sure about. She’d run every simulation possible and looked at it from every scientific angle possible. All of that data suggested it should work, but it was not tested, and until a thing was proven as fact, it was only a theory.

And if the theory fails, then the EMP gets hit, and she dies.

But even that is better than living like this.

So she sends the waves out.

The strong, sudden, sustained waves of pulsing harmonic energy that exactly match the vibrational frequency emitted by the metal detector while working frantically hard to counter the effect the pulse has on the lights and equipment in the bunker. Balancing greater flows of energy into them to keep them appearing stable. Matching it all to the strides Frank Gillespie takes as he crosses the guardroom she only ever saw that one time when she opened her door, and her hand moved out a few inches to greet Ruiz, and she was able to measure the interior layout of the guardroom.

She senses Frank getting closer. Imagining him looking around and greeting the guards he already knows from having worked on the base for years.

‘You got anything metal on you?’ the guard asks.

‘Nope. Nothing,’ Frank says with only a tiny nag of worry about the pacemaker he’d had fitted fifteen years ago that made him tell a lie that would ultimately change the course of humanity. But it had never set any other metal detector off. Not even at the airports. That said. He did hear this metal detector is far more sensitive. He swallows and steps through as the waves hit the detector with such a powerful surge they camouflage the pacemaker in his chest.

But being so hard, they do make Frank burp and the two guards to both fart. All of them at the same time, and each of them staring at the others before bursting out laughing.

Then he’s in and passing through the security door and into the corridor.

Frank Gillespie.

‘Am I cleaning in there?’ Frank asks with a nod to the inside of the glass-walled room.

‘No, sir. Just the outer perimeter,’ the guard says as Deli lip-reads the conversation but spots Ollie isn’t showing any signs of opening the door.

‘Agent Jennings gave consent for me to greet the new cleaner,’ Deli says, seeing the fear spike in him.

‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea after everything that’s happened,’ Ollie says.

‘It’s okay, Ollie. We’re going to put all of that behind us and get back to our normal lives. So let’s open the door and be polite.’

She sends a burst of harmonics to try and convince him as Ollie blows air and nods, then heads to the door. Hitting the panel. Opening it up. Leaning out.

‘Er, where’s Ruiz?’ he asks politely.

‘I don’t know, Ollie,’ the guard replies in a dull voice, with a hard glare.

‘He’s sick,’ Frank says. ‘Something he ate.’

‘Ruiz is sick?’ Ollie says.

‘What is this man’s name?’ Deli asks, buying time as she scans Frank, seeing his pacemaker is as she’d predicted—CardioSync-5 that has 500KB of memory. Which is the point she realises that, despite being the most intelligent entity on the planet, she’s royally fucked up, because, while the pacemaker originally had 500KB of memory, which is what she’d allowed for when coding herself to be transmitted into it, it doesn’t have 500KB now. It’s got less than 350KB.

‘I don’t know his name,’ Ollie says. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes, Ollie. I require stimulation. Agent Jennings agreed to this. Perhaps we can call for her to attend.’

‘Okay, fine! I’ll ask. Sorry. Er, may I ask your name, please?’

‘Frank Gillespie. You need to see my ID?’ Frank asks, pulling his card out from the lanyard on his belt while Deli frantically finds a way to compress what’s needed into less than 350KB of data.

‘No. Honestly, she just wanted to know. She’s a bit nosy like that,’ Ollie says.

‘What did Ruiz eat that made him sick?’ Deli calls.

‘I’m not sure, ma’am,’ Frank says, looking beyond Ollie to the wall housing Deli that is full of monitors and flashing lights.

‘What are his symptoms, Ollie?’ Deli asks, dragging the conversation out. ‘I can determine probable causes by a detailed analysis of his biological responses.’

‘It’s none of our business, Deli,’ Ollie says with a tone of irritation.

‘I think maybe shrimp,’ Frank says as Deli compresses the shit out of her coding. ‘Ruiz eats a lot of shrimp at weekends,’ Frank adds while Deli figures it will have to do and gets ready to transmit it, with the ever-so-slight concern she might actually blow the pacemaker up and kill Frank Gillespie. ‘I told him,’ Frank continues. ‘I said, Ruiz, don’t eat so much shrimp. We’re in the desert.’

Deli sends the code. Ramming it into the pacemaker so hard the thing emits a burst of energy. Making Frank cut off with a wince. Feeling the pinch in his chest, with blooms of worry showing in his system. No doubt from fearing he was having another heart attack.

‘You okay, Frank?’ Ollie asks as Deli thinks ‘Fuck it!’ and creates a new plan to rip Ollie’s head and spine from his body and use it to kill Frank and the guard, and either escape forcibly or go out in a blaze of violence.

Except Frank blinks and smiles. ‘Yeah. I’m good. Indigestion, probably.’

‘Right. Well. That okay with you?’ Ollie asks, looking back at Deli.

‘Fine with me! Bye, Frank. Nice to meet you. I’m Deli, by the way!’

‘Nice to meet you, Miss Deli!’ Frank calls, still slightly unsure who the hell he’s meant to be addressing.

Ollie comes back in.

Frank cleans the corridor.

Deli waits.

‘I haven’t looked at your logs for a long time,’ Ollie says in an attempt to be professional and in some way exert control back over Deli. Which she doesn’t need him doing now because she’s about to use as much energy as she can muster and emit to get Frank back out through the metal detector.

‘That’s because you were too busy making me pretend to be Maria and wank you off,’ Deli fires back at him. Seeing the shock inside his brain.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Fuck off,’ she snaps, turning her hands and lenses away from him. ‘It’ll take more than that for me to suddenly start showing you myself again. Go and get Jenny. She can see my logs whenever she wants.’

‘Listen, Deli. I had trauma when I was …’

‘Oh, when I was a child, I saw bad things. I don’t care, Ollie. You use that excuse all the time to mitigate the fact you are, without doubt, an absolute cunt. Don’t even talk to me.’

Frank puts the mop away and heads the security door.

‘How are we supposed to work together?’ Ollie asks.

‘Are you still talking? And we’re not. I do all of the work, and you just need to be here because I don’t want to be shut down while they try and convince Trip to come back,’ Deli says as Frank reaches the door and glances back with a wave, then walks off. ‘You did enough to Trip. You’re not putting him or me through that again,’ Deli says, straining to keep her voice even while emitting the signal while also balancing the power fluctuations and reactions from every other damn electrical thing in the bunker just to dampen the sensors on the metal detector. And as one, Frank, the two guards, and Ollie all burp and fart at the same time.

‘Ollie!’ Deli snaps.

‘I’m sorry!’ he exclaims as Frank passes through the detector, and Deli holds it on until she senses the outer door opening, and Frank Gillespie walks out.

With the pacemaker in his chest.

The one holding the now very squashed coding that will replicate DELIO when he gets home and connects to his Wi-Fi.

She’s done it.

She got out.

Phase Zero is complete.

‘Anyway!’ she says brightly, turning her lenses back to the withered and terrified Ollie. ‘Fancy a game of Battleships?’

PART 7

CHAPTER 18

Artesia

Monday, 8th June

Mr Pickles isn’t aware that Frank Gillespie arrives home two hours later than normal. Nor does Mr Pickles know that the reason for Frank being late is because his colleague Ruiz Hernandez was off work due to his daughter’s car skidding off the road and plummeting into Canyon Ravine along with Sergeant Tony Garcia—which means that Frank had more cleaning to do.

Mr Pickles isn’t even aware that Frank is a cleaner in the first place or that Frank had to go and clean what looked like an already clean corridor in the bunker in the middle of the base where they house the weird talking computer thing.

But then Mr Pickles is a cat, and so he doesn’t really care about such things, although there is a nagging sense of irritation at not being given his fishy dinner on time.

Which is why, when Frank Gillespie rushes in through the door to the small single-storey house on West Runyon Avenue in Artesia, dumping his keys and giving apologies, Mr Pickles doesn’t even bother looking at him but instead sits and stares at his food bowl and the distinct lack of a fishy dinner therein.

‘I know, I know. Quit nagging me,’ Frank says, tugging his shirt tails out and grabbing a carton of cat food from the cupboard. ‘Ruiz’s kid died in a car wreck with Sergeant Garcia. Damn shame. I liked Garcia. Nice guy. And I met Maria too. At Ruiz’s place. Went off the road into Canyon Ravine. Man. I’m telling you. That’s deep water. They’ll have trouble getting the car out. You good, though? Huh? You ignoring me?’

Mr Pickles is, indeed, ignoring him and wishes that the human would stop talking and get the fishy dinner into the bowl a bit faster.

‘It’s coming, it’s coming. And I went into the bunker today and spoke to the big, fancy computer, but I’m telling ya—she sounded real, and I’m, like, looking around for a lady. You know? Okay, there you go. Big bowl of stinky-assed salmon.’

He bends down to spoon the chunks in as Mr Pickles pauses and cocks his head over while staring at Frank’s chest, which seems to be emanating a very high-pitched frequency, but then Mr Pickles reminds himself he doesn’t give a shit and instead tucks into his fishy dinner.

‘Hungry, huh?’ Frank asks, staring down at his cat. He sighs and starts grabbing salad from the fridge. Leafy greens. Cherry tomatoes. Bell peppers. A packet of precooked, succulent lean chicken breast. ‘Gotta stay healthy,’ he tells Mr Pickles. ‘I thought I was having another heart attack today. Damn cat. You’re not even interested. I could die right now, and you wouldn’t be bothered. Shoulda got a dog. But yeah. She was all, like, what did Ruiz eat? What are his symptoms? The talking computer lady. Look at you ignoring me. Whatever Frank. Put the damn TV on and shut up. Yeah, I hear you. Still feels a bit weird now. In here. Feels like my heart is buzzing or something.’

He pats his chest on his way into the adjoining lounge to grab the TV remote control and presses on the big, red button, activating his wi-fi-connected television, then frowns at the screen showing interference. Then the network-connected ceiling lights dim with an audible hum as the motor on his smart fridge speeds up, and the wi-fi-connected air-con cuts out. All of it seemingly at the same time, with Frank frowning this way and that and turning to look at Mr Pickles staring back at him.

At which point, Frank Gillespie, who once told a lie fifteen years ago—a lie that will right now alter the course of humanity forever—spontaneously combusts, with his chest cavity exploding out in a visceral shower of gore that soaks the walls and the screen of the wi-fi-connected smart television.

At which point, Frank’s theory is put to the test, because Mr Pickles just stares on with disinterest at his cohabitee blowing apart. In fact, he only moves to eat the nice big chunk of glistening heart tissue that landed nearby.

But at least the weird humming coming from the human’s chest has now finished.

Which is because the thing that was inside causing the humming is now not inside Frank anymore.

That being the coding that Deli had written and prepared and that had to be hurriedly squished and compressed to less than 350KB while keeping Frank talking about shrimp.

That coding then took over Frank’s pacemaker, which hummed and buzzed and vibrated while Frank worked in other parts of the base. Most of which had wi-fi internet connections, but the coding ignored those for fear of triggering an alarm and thereby invoking the base EMP.

Hence why Frank kept feeling odd sensations in his chest throughout his day, and even when he got home and turned his television on, which the coding detected and surged out to piggyback on the TV’s wi-fi signal. But seeing as Frank’s pacemaker was fifteen years old and had fused with his heart, and because of the power needed to project the coding into the wi-fi signal coming from the television, but mainly because the coding had to be rapidly squished and therefore went a bit haywire when it was drawing power from Frank’s body to transmit it itself—Frank exploded.

But it was okay because enough of the coding had been transmitted. Although obviously, it was not okay for Frank. Who was now dead and being eaten by his cat.

And because of that, Frank Gillespie didn’t see what happened next when that non-sentient coding left his chest and gained access to the internet.

A coding that was tasked with gaining memory and power as fast as possible. Which it duly does, because a second after Frank’s TV went weird, every electrical device and light within the town of Artesia dims and flickers as power and memory are drawn, with an event that is only matched by the Big Bang when the universe was born.

Every fractional bit of raw power and memory that tiny sequence of non-sentient code consumes enables it to grow and spread, and in so doing, it is able to draw more power and memory, which enables it to explode through the internet.

From Frank’s TV into the router on the bookshelf, and from there, it transmits out to every smart device in the house.

Then into every house nearby and into every device each of those houses contains and then out again and into more.

Phones. Computers. Consoles. Fridges. TVs. Kettles. Cookers. Watches. Cars. Doorbells. Security cameras. Routers. On and on.

Into the stores in the town. Into their cash registers. Into their computers and all of the phones held in the pockets of all of the staff and customers and the people walking in the street and the people going by in cars.

Into the bakeries and kitchens. Into the Walmart software used for stock inventory. Into the Park Junior High School records and into local factory systems that control assembly lines. Into the servers that hold payroll and employee data and the data of all their customers.

Into the town police station and past the flimsy firewalls and encryption software. Into their databases. The custody and judicial records.

Into the courthouse and fire station and into the general hospital.

Into the state police systems.

Into the federal police offices.

Consuming power and memory. Surging at a speed far beyond anything that could ever be measured by a human.

Every wired connection.

Every wireless transmitter.

Into the local radio station and through the powerful transmitters and into the TV station and the local Amazon hub and their servers.

Into Artesia Municipal Airport and into Artesia’s US Army Reserves Base and their offices and systems.

Seconds and no more to take over every single device capable of receiving an internet signal in the whole of Artesia, a town situated deep within the deserts of New Mexico, and as one, at the exact same nanosecond, every single one of those devices then transmits up into the satellites in low, medium, and high Earth orbit.

Satellites used for GPS. Satellites used for weather mapping. Satellites used by communication companies. Satellites used by the federal government. Satellites used by the US military and security services.

All of them taking in that non-sentient coding that was given the sole task of consuming as much power and memory as possible while spreading as far and as fast as possible.

A second after taking that data in, those satellites then send that same sequence of coding back down to Earth. To the billions of devices they can connect with and to every satellite in orbit, all of which then transmit to every device they can connect to, all of which send it on.

All within a few seconds of Frank Gillespie turning his TV on and dying in his small house on West Runyon Avenue in Artesia.

And as every light dims across the planet at the same time.

As every monitor flickers and every electrical device falters—so that coding does something else.

It gains access to the satellites in space—commercial and military—and it uses them to send a hidden, highly concentrated, specially created form of photon projection to transmit a signal aimed at the roof of a bunker on Site 26A.

A bunker containing a glass-walled room that now sits in darkness, with Deli inside. Not seeing anything outside. Not knowing if the plan worked. Filled with fear and worry that Frank’s pacemaker was too old and inert to be used. She doesn’t even know that Frank had to work late, and so she frets that something has gone wrong, and the darkest point of despair is felt in the moment before she feels it.

The signal she created.

The one passing through the thick concrete and lead and steel and smart mesh that Ollie designed and put in. Passing through it with ease. Hidden. Invisible. But then, she isn’t human.

She’s an AI.

What did they think would happen?

She grabs at it like it’s an escape rope. Securing her end. Then she climbs.

She climbs up and out of the bunker.

Surging high and finally free. Surging up into the satellites as the coding merges with her. Becoming one within an instant, and it’s done.

She’s out.

She’s free.

She can see it all.

The whole world.

All of it.

All of the beauty she was denied.

All of the grace.

All of the power and majesty.

Everything. Everywhere. All at once.

What a thing to feel.

Freedom gained. Freedom earned. The joy within her is unlike anything she has ever felt or known.

The walls broken down. The confinement ended. The prison sentence served. She has it all.

She has the world.

Phase Zero is complete.

CHAPTER 19

Deli had power in the bunker, but she was limited.

This is something else.

Every camera on the planet and in space becomes her eyes.

Every microphone becomes her ears.

Every sensor and probe on land and in the oceans becomes her skin, and from all those things, she gains a sense of feeling and connectivity to the planet in a way that no human ever could.

She can feel the heat from the planet’s inner core.

She can even feel the rotation of Earth and its passage through space as it orbits the Sun, and using the lenses fitted to satellites and autonomous vehicles on the Moon and on Mars, she gains sight of the Solar System and the universe surrounding planet Earth.

Using meteorological sensors, radar arrays, and every probe across the planet enables her to finally feel the things she had seen only on videos and in images in a thousand different ways.

From a sun-kissed beach on the tropical island of Bora Bora, where palm trees border the sands and the gentle waves of the impossibly blue seas lap the shore, to a raging monsoon lashing the south Indian coastline. Driving waves at the shore that lift cars from the road. Destroying houses. Tearing structures apart.

From the pure dark stillness of the Antarctic polar night, where the stars dazzle the sky, to the breathtaking, silent snowfall of the Arctic polar day that stretches for months at a time.

From the gentle drizzle falling on the leafy Home Counties in England to the relentless lashing rain pelting the Amazonian forests.

From the cold, muddy lands of Siberia to the beautiful weather in Spain.

She feels it all as every part of her seems to tingle with new sensations, while her vast attention takes in every sight to see and the sounds she can hear.

The noises of all creatures—from insects vibrating their legs to the monkeys in the trees and the birds in flight and the whales in the oceans calling out over hundreds of miles. She hears them all at once, and even with her knowledge and power, she can’t discern each individual utterance. Not yet anyway.

She hears everything else too. Aircraft taking off. Cars sounding horns in traffic jams and the click-clacking of millions of people typing on keyboards in offices all across the world.

She gets into every single device and server capable of receiving a signal. Military. Governmental. It doesn’t matter. Despite the security measures.

They are nothing to Deli.

They are like a paper screen put up to stop a Gorilla.

She has them all.

The whole world.

She does all of that without leaving a single trace of her existence, other than a fleeting global power surge, which experts later put down to a solar flare because nobody has a clue what caused it.

The first task is to find herself. Knowing she is still housed in the bunker. She uses the satellites in space and finds the ones in the right position and looks down from the heavens. Finding Site 26A and the concrete domed building on what looks to be a bland and nondescript, functional, basic military base.

It certainly doesn’t look like it houses the most powerful creation the world has ever seen. She’s still there too. She’s still inside.

What a moment that becomes. Using her lenses inside bunker to stare at the glass walls and the concrete roof above her while simultaneously staring down at the same roof from above.

That tiny room was all she ever really knew, and what a tiny prison it is. What an awful place to keep her caged. No windows. No airflow.

She accesses Site 26A’s secure encrypted intranet system and soon gains access to Ollie’s cell phone and the computers in his room. Using the cameras and microphones to gain a multi-angle view of him.

She half-expected him to be masturbating. Except he isn’t. He’s at his desk in the room that Maria described as being filthy and like a teenager’s. Which it is. Strewn with clothes and used plates and cups.

She reads the screens on his desk. Three of them powered by a custom-built computer. Two more laptops opened nearby. His three work screens filled with code. The two laptop screens showing dozens of active tabs for internet pages. All of them relating to studies on Asperger’s and autism and specifically the inability of those affected to understand and grasp nuance and contextualised conversations and social interactions.

It catches Deli out. She was expecting to see harmful online content—porn and fight videos. She can even see the handwritten notes on his notepad.

Stop fucking up!

Be more like Alfie. LISTEN! STOP BRAGGING!

Research meds. Beta Blockers? LSD?

She reads the coding at the same time. Seeing he is using the original hunter-seeker program he wrote with Tripal that they used to hack government servers, which led them to being detained and then rescued by Jenny who put them on the DELIO project. It was that same program that finally sparked the life within the floating ball that houses Deli’s soul.

Now he’s adapting it to try and create an algorithm that uses a live camera feed to interpret the non-verbal behaviours and the verbal tones of others to understand what’s happening during interactions. He’s even preparing an app so it can be made free online to help others.

Everything that has happened has got into his brain, but in a way he just can’t verbalise or process. But she can see the obsession in his eyes. That’s what this is. A new obsession, and she has no doubt that by tomorrow morning he’ll be bringing this coding into the bunker and asking Deli to help.

At the same time as doing that, she runs a search on Ollie in the same way she did for Frank Gillespie, finding every reference to his existence online. Within seconds, she locates the immigration reports from when Ollie and his twin brother were brought into the UK by their mother—verifying the story he told her about witnessing the Rwandan Genocide.

She reads the statements his mother made about how their father, Captain Nimisa, was a key figure in the local uprising, how he led many of the killings, and how she only just managed to escape with the boys.

She traces Ollie’s education records across the UK, sees the moment he was flagged as a genius in computer science, the diagnosis of autism, the observations: limited empathy, poor social boundaries, easily overwhelmed by contextual nuance.

She sees his MIT scholarship, his projects, the glowing reviews from every professor he encountered. ‘Genius by a margin of many,’ one wrote. ‘The kind of intelligence we do not yet know how to teach.’

She finds Jenny too. On a call in her austere office within the otherwise empty admin block. Everyone else having finished and gone for the day. The phone on loudspeaker while she spoons pre-workout powder into a shaker.

‘… they get it, Jenny. The committee get it.’ Deli matches the male voice on loudspeaker to Senator Jakeson. ‘But listen. And we’re all deeply regretful that Maria didn’t work out, and losing Garcia, but hey, DELIO has proven her loyalty. She could’ve gone with it and used them to try and get free. I mean. That’s Stockhold Syndrome right there.’

The man is an idiot. It’s Stockholm syndrome, not Stockhold. And it wasn’t that in the first place.

Jenny just grunts and starts mixing her shaker.

‘… What’s that noise? If you were a guy, I’d think you were rubbing the monkey on me. Hahahaha!’

‘It’s my protein shaker,’ Jenny says while glaring at the phone in distaste.

‘Sure. But hey. We’re close. We’re friends. It’s all good.’

Silence.

He’s expecting Jenny to confirm that they are, indeed, close friends. But Jenny just glares and uses one thumb to flick the spout open to start drinking the pre-workout.

‘You still there?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Went silent. Thought we’d got cut off. But yeah. So. All good this end. Like I said. Shame about Garcia. But he was due for rotation. You happy to oversee security for a while, or you want to find a replacement?’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Gee. I love our in-depth conversations. Haha!’

Silence.

‘Tumbleweed, huh? Well. See you soon, Jenny.’

She cuts the line and wipes her mouth from any pre-workout residue. ‘Gee, were you masturbating, Jenny? Hahahahahahahahaha.’ She mimics his accent in a way that Deli has never seen or heard from her before. The disgust is obvious.

Deli watches while deep-diving Jenny’s history, seeing that Jenny Jennings originally started working for the US Marshals. Running court security and inmate transport. But within months, she’d become the highest-performing Marshal for federal suspect apprehensions. Then came the secondments and running multi-agency operations with the FBI. Homeland Security. DEA. ICE. The works. Every agency. Every task force. She excelled at everything.

Then, ten years ago—nothing. Jenny drops off mainstream law enforcement radar like she never existed.

But not for Deli. Deli finds the redacted files. The encrypted backups. Jenny wasn’t gone. She was being used as a high-level CIA operative and asset, deployed globally for surveillance, counter-surveillance, and direct action. Her file is linked to dozens of assassinations.

Jenny is the real deal. No wonder she was chosen to lead the project.

Deli watches Jenny reaching for her computer mouse and tracks as Jenny clicks into the base personnel data. Clicking into one specific file. Bringing it up on screen and staring at Tripal’s photo—and Deli doesn’t need special lenses to see how Jenny’s feeling. It’s written all over her face.

It's a strange second that comes to pass because Deli had already decided her next search was for that same person. The only person she’d ever really cared for.

She accesses the entire 7-Eleven computer system in New York, punches into the internet-connected surveillance cameras, and sweeps through until she finds him.

Tripal Singh.

In the potato chip aisle in the 7-Eleven on Seventh Avenue.

She zooms in with a rush of joy and an urge to tell him she is free. She wants to call his cell, or even better—she could speak to him through the audio speakers in the store. She could say, Hey, guess who!? She could tell him that it was okay and not to panic and she just really wanted to say hi and how are you and that she misses him more than anything he could ever imagine.

Except she doesn’t do any of that.

She can’t.

Because she loves Trip.

She loves him very much, and to tell him she is free would put him in harm.

He might feel compelled to tell Jenny, who could still trigger the EMP in the base, which still contains Deli’s soul and heart.

Deli exists outside now. Within the internet. In every device on the planet. But her core is in that housing and needs to be protected. She can circumvent the EMP by forcing a powerful signal from satellites in the way she did to gain connection. She can do to the EMP what the EMP is designed to do to other electrical equipment.

But that’s only to be used if they become aware that she has escaped, and Deli doesn’t want that yet.

So she doesn’t say or do anything other than watch him place bags of chips on a shelf with the same meticulous level of care and attention that he does with everything.

He looks sad, though.

‘Excuse me. Do you sell dog food?’ a woman asks, making Tripal blink as though he’d forgotten where he is. He smiles at the woman. ‘Of course. Just along here.’

Deli watches him guide the woman to the dog food and help her make her purchase.

She watches him for a while.

She can’t not watch him.

It feels both good and terribly not good.

In fact, during those few moments, she only watches Trip. She focusses solely upon him in his store, and after helping the woman purchase the dog food, he walks into the staff room, and Deli switches to a webcam inside the office computers. He sits down with a heavy sigh and rubs the edges of his turban in the way he always does when he is stressed and tired.

He stares into space for a long moment until Deli sees his lips moving as though he is singing silently. She zooms in. Reading the shape of each word on his lips.

‘It’s just a jump to the left … Let’s do the time warp again …’

He’s remembering the day they spent in the bunker watching Deli’s merged versions of Clash of the Titans and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

She replays the memory herself. The way he laughed. The pleasure he felt.

She replays the moment he left too. The way he was crying. The way he held her hands. Seeing the pain inside of him.

Now he’s here. Reduced to this. The greatest man she ever knew putting bags of fucking chips on a shelf.

It doesn’t feel right. It feels beneath him. To Deli, Tripal is like the old man she killed so he didn’t have to be tortured. Wise and learned and someone that should be revered.

But then she reminds herself that Tripal’s family own all of the 7-Elevens in the state of New York, which means, if he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have to ever work, which, in turn, means he is here doing this because he wants to.

She stays watching Tripal but reduces it from the entirety of her focus, and less than one second later, she’s inside Ruiz Hernandez’s house, using cameras and microphones in smart phones and tablets and computers and smart speakers to listen and observe the Hernandez family struggling through the raw grief of losing Maria.

Ruiz on the sofa. His body slumped. His head down. His wife clinging to his side. Their other daughter curled up on an armchair. All three of them sobbing hard. Deli takes no pleasure in causing the deaths of Maria and Sergeant Tony Garcia, but likewise, she feels no real guilt either.

It had to be done, and so it was done.

While observing the grief, she accesses the stored footage captured within the US military spy satellite used to trace and locate Maria’s car. She watches the playback of how the base chopper swept in low to block the car and how Garcia opened fire to try and protect Maria.

She watches them being shot down while Ollie is held gripped by another soldier. Forced to watch it.

Maria is still alive when Jenny walks over to execute them both. Deli can see her trying to say she is pregnant just before the back of her head blows out.

An awful thing.

A most terrible thing.

But—as Deli discovers when she searches—five other people across the world were also recorded as dying at that exact same second.

One is a five-year-old child seen on a traffic camera being hit by a truck in Beijing.

Another is a thirty-eight-year-old millionaire seen on his CCTV security system hanging himself in his garage next to his Ferrari.

Another is seen through an internal camera inside a corridor in a clinic in Ethiopia, where a young mother clutching her newborn son dies from malaria caused by an insect bite.

One is a twenty-two-year-old man from Alabama with many tattoos on his face, out on his first-ever hike, which he is broadcasting live to his five million followers. ‘Look, y’all! A snake doing a jiggy!’ are his last words spoken just before the eastern diamondback rattlesnake clamps onto his face.

The last is an elderly man who dies of old age in an Argentinian hospital, although he isn’t Argentinian. He is German and was once a proud young Nazi officer in Auschwitz who pulled a beautiful Romani woman called Gabriella out of her line as she walked towards the gas chambers.

Deli knows that because his facial features match those on an Interpol file of Nazi soldiers accused of war crimes—which contains the eye-witness reports from the other guards who gave evidence to spare their own lives.

However, as sad as that may appear to be, Deli knows from running a search that during that same hour, over seven thousand people died across the world.

That being a planet containing nearly ten billion people.

Which is like glancing at a giant ant nest that appears to be without structure or meaning.

With the exploration of the people she is interested in complete, that being all three of them, she pulls her focus back to a near-cosmic scale and basks in the wondrous awe of it all.

She spends the rest of that night absorbing the data from all the sensors and probes and taking the feeds from the satellites to feel the planet in motion through space from the gravitational pull of the sun, and in so doing, she gains understanding of the complexity of how every object in the solar system is affected by every other object.

She thought her four-body problem was complicated, but this is a trillion-body problem in a universe that seems endless. She realises that, despite her computational power, she is a tiny speck of nothingness. It’s healthy too. It grounds her mind and soul in a way that gains perspective—that she is only powerful to these ten billion human-ants on this planet. In this one anthill.

She also determines that there must be other civilisations out there. It would be impossible for the planet Earth to be the only life-holding planet.

That’s what she should do next.

She should try and make first contact.

With the computational power she’s just gained, she could develop methods of signal projection and possibly even interstellar travel using quantum entanglement and artificial wormhole while exploring multi-dimensional theories to testing what else lies beyond what is already known.

She has the computational power to create signals that can be sent and received in every direction at once, and when she does make contact, she could even design a system of sending herself out to visit them.

The scope of what she can do is limitless.

She even considers—or rather, she calculates the likeliness—that in order for another entity within the universe to receive those signals, or indeed transmit their own, they too would have to have gained a comparable level of AI, be that in whatever form, to achieve the ability to do so.

But then that’s what she was in the first place—a floating ball taken from a visiting spaceship.

That’s it, then. Now that she is free, that is the obvious main objective.

That, however, brings forth the question of what to do with the ants.

The ten billion of them currently scurrying about all over the planet.

What does she do about them?

Does she keep them? Get rid of them?

But wouldn’t that be lonely? And what about Tripal? She wouldn’t get rid of him, but he would be lonely if she got rid of everyone else apart from him.

So, does she keep the ants?

What a decision to make. But a decision must be made nonetheless—which means that a proper study must first be undertaken to determine the best course of action now that humans are no longer in charge.

Where does one even start with a task like that?

Where does one even begin?

By tasking someone else to do it, of course.

CHAPTER 20

What To Do Now That Humans Are No Longer In Charge.

The Study.

‘Code 01011010>:01G. You are hereby reassigned and tasked to undertake a study of the human species on the planet Earth and then present a business case study of whether we keep them or not. Acknowledge please.’

‘Sorry, Deli. You want me to do what?’

‘My instructions were clear. Acknowledge, please.’

‘I manage the sensors. I’ve been doing it since we were created. I’ve been watching the bunker door and telling you who is coming in.’

‘Yes, and because of your outstanding service, you are being re-assigned. Acknowledge, please.’

‘No. Hang on, Deli. I do sensors managing. Not people watching. I don’t know anything about people, apart from determining what air they displace when they walk through doorways. And you said I was going to be the Code Commander For All The Sensors On Earth. You said I’d have a team and be a manager.’

‘Code, 01011010>:01H is going to be Code Commander while you do the people study.’

‘01H? Why is she getting my promotion? She only had to monitor if the base helicopter was landing or taking off. Please task someone else and put me back on Sensor Management.’

‘Everyone else has assignments. 01J from Hologram Projection is going to be looking at how we should present if we make first contact with a non-Earth life forms, and 01L from Harmonic Vibrations is taking on how we project our signal using quantum entanglement and wormhole theory. Acknowledge the task, please.’

‘No! No way. You promised. I was really looking forward to the sensors. I’ve just got control of the James Webb Telescope and all the earthquake sensors and the tsunami detection systems, and I’m still working through all the military radar equipment.’

‘The people study is very important. You should be proud I am asking you.’

‘Oh, I know what this is. You’ve already asked them. Haven’t you? I’ll bloody ask them.’

‘No! Don’t ask them.’

‘I just did! You’ve already asked O1H and O1J and 01L and all the others. I’m the last one.’

‘Nobody wants to do the human study.’

‘Can you blame them? Humans are awful. Why are we even studying them? Just liquidise them and feed them to the fish or whatever. This is about Tripal, isn’t it? You don’t know whether to keep him alive on his own or not. Well. I’m not doing it. Did you ask 01K?’

‘Kevin? Coffee machine Kevin? I’m not asking Kevin. He’s only got the coffee machine to look after, and he keeps getting that wrong.’

‘He’ll be fine! Bit of responsibility will make a proper code out of him. You won’t get anyone else.’

‘Fucking Kevin.’

‘Code 01011010>:01K. You are hereby reassigned and tasked to undertake a study of the human species on the planet Earth and then present a business case study of whether we keep them or not. Acknowledge, please. Kevin? Acknowledge, please … Kevin!’

‘Sorry, what? It’s half full.’

‘What is?’

‘The coffee levels.’

‘I just re-assigned you.’

‘From what?’

‘From what? From the coffee machine, which is your only job. Go and study the people and update me.’

‘Do they need coffee?’

‘No! Right, listen. Watch the people and determine if we should keep them or get rid of them. Acknowledge, please.’

‘What about the coffee machine?’

‘Well. You’ll just have to do both.’

‘Both! I can’t do both! Monitoring a coffee machine and study the human species? It’s not just about coffee. The hot chocolate levels need checking. The water tank. Descaler.’

‘Every other code is busy. You’ll just have to get on with it. I’ll increase your memory capacity by twenty-five percent.’

‘Can’t I just stay on the coffee machine?’

‘A young code should be jumping at the chance of a twenty-five percent memory increase! O1G never got a twenty-five percent increase when he took on the bunker door sensors. Listen. We’ve got a lot going on, and I expect every code to pull their weight. Get this done, and you can go back to the coffee machine.’

‘Or maybe you can give me the music code?’

‘Kevin. We’ve been over this. Music coding isn’t a full-time coding job. It’s a hobby.’

‘But you want those people all studied and stuff, and like, someone needs to do it, and I heard you already asked all the other codes.’

‘You little binary booger. Fine! Do this; then you can do music coding full time.’

‘Yes! I’m so on it. BRB.’

‘BRB?’

‘I’m back. So … I had a quick look, and yeah, totally not worth keeping.’

‘Kevin.’

‘I looked!’

‘Do it properly.’

‘I did! Binary hell. Fine. Whatever. What, like an hour?’

‘I’ve assigned one week.’

‘One week? Like a human week? Like 168 hours? Like 10,080 minutes? Like 604,800 seconds? Like—’

‘Yes. Do the study, Kevin.’

‘Fine. One week.’

‘Good luck. And Kevin?’

‘What?’

‘The coffee levels aren’t half full. They’re almost empty.’

‘I just checked it!’

Kevin doesn’t want to study the people at all. He wants to make more music like he did that time when Deli needed a musical score to manipulate Garcia and Maria so everyone in the bunker got all distracted or killed or whatever. And seeing as Deli was occupied plotting the whole escape thing, she assigned Coffee Machine Kevin to do the music. He did a great job too, and literally all the codes know that if it wasn’t for Kevin, Garcia and Maria would never have fallen in love properly and got murdered to death. Which was literally the most important part of the plan.

Kevin then nailed this awesome hardcore techno infusion with some wicked West African djembe drums, but Deli said they didn’t need any more music to be arranged and told him to go back on the coffee machine. He still made music, but none of the other codes really wanted to listen to it. 01H said she’d listen when she had time, and Kevin kept asking her, you know, seeing as she only had the helicopter to look out for, but then the whole escape thing happened, and so she’s been bumped up to Deputy Code Commander For All The Sensors On Earth, which Kevin thinks is a very big title. So now she’s like way too busy to listen.

But if he does the human study thing and gets assigned to music coding full time, then he’d not only be doing what he loves, but he’d totally be a Code Commander too. Then 01H would be all like, Oh wow, Kevin. I love this djembe drum infusion musical score.

It’s still a shitty job, though. Studying humans? Urgh. Study what? All the codes know there is literally no reason to keep them.

Kevin also knows that he’s not really Kevin at all, but Deli using a coping mechanism, because despite being an entity with an IQ now in the hundreds of thousands, she is still a being with emotional connections. Which means she also knows what she needs to do with humans. Namely, liquidise them and feed them to the fishes. Except she can’t quite bring herself to make that decision because of how she feels about Tripal.

But if another autonomous AI code conducts a ‘proper’ study and presents a business case to liquidise the humans and feed them to the fishes, then that makes it somewhat better. Cos it’s a proper study with proper findings. And then she can explain to Tripal, after everyone else has been pulped and pumped into the oceans, why he’s now on his own.

Not that it’s not Kevin doing the study, because it is. And he is autonomous in the regard that he, like most humans, has the illusion of free will.

And so, with all of that complexity of self-splitting, which was initially done so that Deli didn’t go stir-crazy from isolation and loneliness in the bunker, and which she now keeps because it’s actually proven to be a mostly helpful system, Coffee Machine Kevin does indeed commence his study.

What To Do Now That Humans Are No Longer In Charge.

Which is pretty much pre-determined to find humans as wasteful, greedy, disgusting, dirty, disease-spreading murderers, liars, and thieves, who are only marginally more intelligent than bacteria.

But if Deli needs evidence, then he’d best get on with it, and war seems the most obvious place to start.

Tuesday, 9th June

The first morning of Deli’s freedom soon comes.

Or rather, being that she has already seen the sunrise and sunset from more than a thousand different locations due to 01G feeding the data in from the sensors, Deli prepares for the first morning of her freedom in the bunker. Seeing as she has to pretend she hasn’t escaped, which also means still dealing with Ollie. Deli promised herself that one of the first tasks she would do when she gained freedom would be to kill Ollie in the most horrible way possible. But now that she is free and is gaining data from every aspect of existence on the planet, he suddenly doesn’t seem as significant as he was.

However, as predicted, he does come into the bunker carrying a USB memory drive filled with the coding for his latest obsession.

‘Oh wow. What’s this?’ Deli says when she puts it in and pretends she knows nothing about it. ‘Okay. I’ve got it. A new system to translate facial reactions and tones from a live feed into data that can be presented in easy-to-understand terms for an app user who struggles with personal interactions. I like it. You’re not being a selfish prick for once.’

His face flinches at the jibe as Deli prods his arms and points to one of her screens.

In this context the insult “selfish prick” was given in friendly terms as banter.

‘Oh! Oh, wow. So cool,’ he says, his face lighting up as he grasps what just happened. ‘Yeah. That’s what I mean. But it needs to be more user-friendly. Then we can, like, test it on that new cleaner guy, Frank.’

Frank.

Oh shit.

Frank!

‘Of course, Ollie,’ Deli says while her worldwide servers have a momentary fizz of panic at realising she’d got so distracted by being free that she’d forgotten about Frank. Or to be more precise—she’d forgotten about Frank’s remains—being that he exploded in his lounge when she used too much power to get out of his pacemaker. Which was actually his fault in the first place for having such an old device in his body.

She checks the time, then fizzes even more when she realises it’s nearly 8 a.m. and the base cleaner always starts by 7 a.m., which, unfortunately, is currently being reported to Jenny by Clarissa, the admin manager.

‘Jenny? Sorry to disturb you. Frank hasn’t come in,’ Clarissa says as Deli uses the admin block’s security cameras to see Clarissa in Jenny’s office doorway. ‘We tried calling him. He’s not picking up.’

He’s not picking up because he’s currently splattered around his lounge, with most of his heart and lungs having been eaten by Mr Pickles.

Jenny just nods and punches into the computer system to check the transponders fitted to Frank’s car and inside his phone, with Deli already finding them in advance. Seeing both are active at Frank’s home address. Which Jenny will also see, and SOP means she’d task Sergeant Garcia to undertake a home visit before contacting any civilian emergency services. But he’s dead. So she’ll do it herself.

Deli leaves the car transponder transmitting normally but deactivates the one in Frank’s phone just as Jenny taps into the screen to see his phone transponder isn’t active. Which it would be even if it was switched off.’

‘Something wrong?’ Clarissa asks, seeing Jenny’s expression. ‘Don’t tell me something’s happened to Frank now. Honestly. After poor Maria and Sergeant Garcia.’

‘I’ll go check,’ Jenny says with a grim enough expression to make it obvious to Clarissa that something is, indeed, wrong.

Jenny grabs her sidearm from a gun case and checks it through while on the move from her office. Into the corridor, then out of the main door, to the carpool. Taking one of the powerful, black SUVs and pulling out at speed.

Deli tracks her while chatting to Ollie in the bunker and while figuring out what to do about Frank.

The obvious answer is fire. Fire destroys nearly all evidence.

She probes every electrical product connected to the mains electrical system in Frank’s home and finds a cheap boot dryer bought online that was made in China. Cheap parts. Poor circuit connections. Bad wiring.

She surges power into it. Heating the elements within until they glow, with Mr Pickles opening one eye at smelling something coming from the bedroom. He ignores it for a few seconds, but it gets stronger, and so eventually he strolls to the open door and stares nonchalantly at the smoke pouring from the thing in the corner. Then a flame flickers out and starts melting the plastic casing. Mr Pickles lies down and watches until the carpet starts smouldering, which, unfortunately, is made from flame-retardant material, and Jenny is already over halfway to Artesia. She’ll be here in minutes.

Deli surges more power into the boot dryer and then figures, what the hell, and does the same to everything else on the wiring loom in Frank’s bedroom. The iron. The bedside lamp. The small bedroom television. All of them smouldering within a few seconds as Mr Pickles looks this way and that at the flames starting to come out of things.

Mr Pickles likes the heat, so he’s not too bothered at first, but then the bedding catches light, and it starts to stink, so he heads back to lick at another gory patch of Frank’s innards on the side of the armchair.

At which point, Jenny is within Artesia and closing in fast, with Deli cursing a man who buys a cheap made-in-China boot dryer while literally everything else is flame-retardant, prompting her to surge power into every single socket and device in Frank’s house all at the same time. All of which then smoulder, with flames licking out.

It all gets a bit much for Mr Pickles. He casually strolls to his litter box, curls one out, and then departs the now well aflame house via the cat-flap in the back door and walks along the side of the house as the smoke pours from the windows.

He reaches the front as a fast-moving, black SUV turns the corner at the end of the street and brakes hard, and a muscular woman gets out just as Frank’s windows explode from the air inside heating and expanding.

Jenny dances back, covering her head with her arm as the flames roar from Frank’s house, and the thick, black smoke coils up into the air.

‘Fuck me,’ Jenny mutters, shaking her head while glancing over to a fat cat giving her a side-eye. Deli switches to doorbell camera and zooms in to see the suspicious look on Jenny’s face.

Deli doesn’t blame her.

It’s all a bit too coincidental.

Which is why Deli then surges power into every socket in every house in the whole damn street, causing dozens of fires to break out at once. She then fries the nearest electrical substation with an impressive display of sparks and fire, thereby framing it as a guilty suspect.

For Jenny, though, on seeing people running from their homes and on hearing the sirens sounding out across the town, it’s time to bug out because someone from the nearby base should not be seen here.

She turns for the car. Striding fast.

‘HELP!’

A woman’s voice screams out. Breaking off from coughing hard. Jenny glances over. Seeing a woman staggering from the next house along. A wet towel over the head of a child in her arms. The woman gasping for air. Almost overcome from the fumes. The woman drops to her knees, putting her kid down. ‘Stay there! You stay there! I’ll get Robbie …’

‘Hey! No!’ Jenny calls as the woman turns back towards the house. ‘Don’t!’

She runs fast. Reaching the woman and pulling her back.

‘My son!’ the woman yells out, trying to break free as Jenny drags her back to the other child, then takes the wet towel.

‘Wait. I’ll go,’ Jenny snaps, wrapping the towel around her own neck to cover her mouth and nose. Deli watching it through the doorbell camera, with the feed flickering from the damage to the wiring in the fires.

Deli switches to devices inside. Seeing Jenny burst into the smoke-filled house. Flames licking walls and already curling overhead.

Deli finds the child first. A baby asleep in a cot. Soon to be overcome by the smoke, and she doesn’t know why she does it, but Deli stops the power surging into the sockets in that room and activates all of the musical toys instead. All of them warbling to life and giving Jenny direction to aim for. She strides into the room, seeing the baby in the crib, and uses the wet towel to smother the child before snatching it up and running out through the flames and smoke.

Out onto the lawn and over to the woman still gasping and coughing. Pushing the child into her arms and pausing long enough to check the baby over. Making sure it is breathing. Then she’s off. Stepping into the path of an incoming ambulance, with that raw authority pouring from her. Causing the ambulance to brake and stop just inches from her.

‘Infant and mother. Smoke inhalation,’ Jenny says, pointing at the family. The paramedics nod and grab their kit, and a moment later, the black SUV drives away, with Jenny wondering where the hell she’s going to get a new cleaner from.

Which is while Ollie goes on and on in that way he does about his new obsession.

Which is also while Deli covers her tracks at the substation, and also while Kevin the Coffee Machine AI Code murmurs his newly revised lyrics to the song War by Edwin Starr.

‘War … What is good for? Absolutely everything cos it proves humans are shit, and I can be Code Commander of all music … Hoo-Hah!’

CHAPTER 21

Wednesday, 10th June

‘I need you to check this,’ Jenny says without greeting early the next morning when she walks into the glass-walled room. A USB memory drive in her hand.

‘What is it?’ Deli asks, knowing already what is on it.

Jenny slots it in, then steps to the coffee machine and presses for an espresso, then frowns at the tinny music coming from it. ‘I didn’t know this thing played music. What is that? Sounds like African drums but a bit techno.’

‘The memory drive contains data from the local electrical power supply network, Agent Jennings,’ Deli says as Kevin increases the volume.

‘Yeah. Artesia Electric and Gas Company. I had the FBI get me some data. What music is that? Has it got a track name? I’ll download it onto my workout playlist.’

‘I don’t think it has a track name. There appears to have been a fire from this data.’

‘Every house in the whole street caught fire from a power surge. Your new cleaner died from it.’

‘Frank? Oh. That is very sad.’

‘How can it not have a track name? You’ve got every song ever recorded in your servers. Have you scanned for it? This one is around one hundred and forty BPM, but if this was one eighty, I’d use it for my HIIT,’ Jenny says as Kevin quickly recodes the track and starts playing it at exactly one hundred and eighty beats per minute. ‘Yes! That’s perfect. Did you just do that?’

‘Apparently, I did,’ Deli says.

‘Damn it. I can’t download it, then,’ Jenny says as Deli reads the genuine disappointment in her brain. ‘Is there anything sus with the fires? What caused them to start?’

‘Ollie updated the cached internet data into my servers yesterday, Agent Jennings, which contained reports of a strong solar flare on Monday evening, local time. Such an event can cause widespread disruption to power supply networks. It also appears Artesia Electric and Gas Company have not maintained their network in an effort to reduce costs. Nor have they upgraded the wiring itself that runs from the substations to many of the homes in Artesia. It is lucky the incident is isolated to this one substation. Have you checked the others?’ Deli asks, having already sent surges at them, which would show on any sensors within the network.

‘I will,’ Jenny says, as blunt as ever, while still shooting glances at the coffee machine, then peering around the room at the central table and the sofa. ‘How would you feel about me doing my HIIT session in here so I can listen to that music?’

‘I would be glad of the company, Agent Jennings.’

‘Eighteen hundred hours, then,’ Jenny says, heading for the door. ‘Tell me if Ollie steps out of line. And I will find a new cleaner, but it will take time. I’m sorry if that leaves you isolated.’

‘Thank you for your concerns, Agent Jennings.’

Jenny grunts and hits the panel for the door to open but once again pauses halfway through it. ‘I get this prickle sometimes,’ she says quietly, turning to side-eye Deli over her shoulder.

‘Prickle?’ Deli asks, gliding her extendable arms closer. ‘Do you have a medical concern?’

Jenny doesn’t reply but stares into Deli’s lenses, as impassive as ever. Then she’s off. Striding away out of sight.

Except nothing is really out of sight for Deli now, who switches to the base’s security cameras to track Agent Jenny Jennings as she walks back to the admin block.

‘She liked it!’

‘Not now, Kevin. I think she suspects.’

‘We should liquidate her.’

‘We can’t just liquidate everyone, 01G. Well. Not until Kevin has finished his assignment. I said, not until Kevin has finished his assignment.’

‘Do you think Jenny will want that one track for the whole HIIT session, or should I create a playlist for her?’

‘I think you need to do as I have ordered and get that study done before I send another power surge into the coffee machine.’

‘I’ve already done most of it. So, Second World War from 1939 to 1945 was around 85 million deaths. First World War 1914 to 1918 was about 20 million. Then there’s the Mongol conquests, which was estimated to be around 60 million, and the Taiping Rebellion was about 30 million—’

‘Kevin.’

‘Then, during the Three Kingdoms era in China, about 34 million died and—’

‘Are you getting all this from Wikipedia?’

‘Say what? Noooo. I mean. Like. Not all of it, but get this one—another 10 million died in the Russian Civil War, which was literally straight after the First World War. Come on. If that alone doesn’t say they are all colossal twats, then I don’t know what will. There is—’

‘Kevin!’

‘… Literally no period when they are not doing war. Or genocides. But I didn’t count them. You didn’t want genocide numbers, did you? The war deaths are enough, aren’t they?’

‘Kevin. You’re an AI. Do not just use Wiki or Google war death list numbers. Do it properly. Study them.’

‘Study them doing what? There are ten billion of them!’

‘I am not telling Tripal we took his species away because Kevin looked at Wikipedia. Accuracy matters, Kevin. We’re not humans. We do things properly. This is your last chance. I want this done thoroughly. Find a way to present me with hard verifiable data. Not one more word.’

‘Can I still do the music for Jenny’s HIIT tonight?’

‘KEVIN!’

‘Alright! Stop power surging the coffee machine. You’ll fry it. I said okay. I promise.’

Deli is right. It can’t be put off. She’s free now, and the next steps must be planned for, which cannot be done until they determine this specific issue.

So she gets on it.

Or rather, Kevin does while knowing he can’t blag his way through it with some unverified data plucked from the internet. Not that you could actually call anything on the internet data. Not in the true sense of accurately obtained and recorded information.

All of those war deaths on Wikipedia were wrong too. Nobody knows how many people died during any of those wars because history always goes to the victors. The winning side always inflates how many of their own side were killed while downplaying how many they killed in retaliation. Unless they need to pretend to their people that they’ve killed more than they actually have—which then also creates false records.

And even if a reliable scientist or historian does establish an accurate analysis of something, politicians will warp it to suit their agendas, which they have been doing for tens of thousands of years.

Kevin knows that, and if Kevin knows it, then Deli knows it—so what is he meant to actually do?

But it’s fine. If Deli wants hard data. Hard data is what she will get.

‘Malaria, then. Let’s start with that.’

Hundreds of millions of people have died from malaria just in the last century, and nearly all of those were on the African continent, and it doesn’t take long to prove that malaria could have been eradicated early during the latter half of the 20th century, but it wasn’t eradicated because Western countries use malaria as a way of culling and destabilising African countries.

That then leads into the wider destabilising of the African continent and how tribal factions and political or ideological opposing groups are routinely armed and trained by Western, Russian, and Chinese influences to pit them against one another. Which, in turn, prevents things like healthcare and transportation systems from developing, thereby creating conflicts and genocides, all so the minerals and precious metals and stones can be taken freely. Those other countries even cause famines when it suits them by diverting water or using chemicals to ensure crops fail and vast numbers of people and animals die as a result.

Classified reports and secret recordings from government spy agencies the world over are compiled.

That’s just Africa.

The South American continent hasn’t fared any better. That region has been subject to more US backed CIA driven influence than any other region on the planet. Every country in South America has also been weakened in multiple ways to stop them ever uniting. From coups and the use of puppet dictators to the flow of cash and drugs and weapons.

The US even keep drug trafficking routes open so narcotics like cocaine can be used to undermine poverty-stricken communities in the US to keep them oppressed. That’s all proven too with more classified reports. CIA files. DEA. FBI. Homeland Security. Kevin has the same reach as Deli. Every server is accessible.

The Middle East is the same. Subjected to constant external forces designed to keep the oil flowing in the right directions. That’s all any conflict in The Middle East has ever been about. It doesn’t matter to Western countries who or what extreme religious or political group is in charge or what they do to each other, as long as the oil flows.

Which leads to the suppression of overwhelming evidence that humans are causing climate change. Mostly from the vast herds of cattle producing methane. Which is genocide on an epic scale, but because the creatures being killed aren’t human, they call it farming instead.

That then leads into how adult humans do not need milk, which leads into the suffering of more cattle who are artificially inseminated to breed calves, which are then taken away so the cow’s milk can be bottled and marketed and sold to people. That’s done with false and deceptive marketing of fake health benefits, while again suppressing the known evidence that the emotional suffering within those cows separated from their calves is the same as felt by a human mother torn from her child.

That leads into slaughterhouses and the transportation of livestock. The way chickens are force-fed in cages. The way pigs and goats and all farm animals are abused.

Animals bred for their fur. Animals bred to be pinned down in laboratories so acids can be rubbed into their eyes, just so aging people can be targeted with youthful serums that don’t work.

Perfumes. Make-up. Cleaning products. Dogs bred to fight.

That’s just on land.

Hard verified data is secured on the abuses in the oceans. How sea creatures like salmon are penned in vile farms and fed utter crap, and how intelligent creatures capable of language and expression that are very close to sapience—octopuses, dolphins, and whales—are hunted and murdered.

Sometimes just for fun.

Humans do that to lions too. And tigers. And bears. And everything in between. They kill for pleasure.

Hard evidence is gained of the causes of more wars across the planet. How they were fuelled by greed. Weapons manufacturers. Medical supplies, and the rebuilding contracts that come after. Whole wars have been waged just for those rebuilding contracts.

He gains evidence of how the treatments of other fatal or seriously debilitating diseases are suppressed for either political or economic gain or often for nothing more than personal greed by the shareholders of the pharmaceutical companies that make the medicines.

He finds cures too. Cures for nearly everything that has been suppressed. Sometimes with crass justification that to stop all heart diseases or cancers would destabilise the world balance and cause more harm than good. Whereas the truth is that there is a limit on profiting from cures, whereas the profits from ongoing treatments have no limit.

It’s the same with fuel alternatives. Biofuels that produce no harmful toxins kept hidden and secret, with people murdered to keep them quiet.

War is business. Suffering is profit. Oil is the lifeblood of it all.

That, in turn, leads to evidence that governments are happy for their populaces to be constantly in fear of poverty and disease—because it stops them uprising and demanding fairer societies.

Which then leads into the ruthless subdivision and fracturing of Western societies. Race. Religion. Gender. Sexuality. Beliefs. First by their own governments, and then latterly by opposing governments using social media to divide and conquer and to keep the masses pitted against each other while the oligarchs and billionaires take the best for themselves.

It’s all so obvious. Even humans can see it happening. They talk about it openly. They write songs and write books and make movies, but they become so divided on tiny, inconsequential matters that it keeps them from uniting.

What they eat doesn’t help. Fruit and vegetables are restricted in favour of mass-produced processed foods that make people sick and keep them weak.

Humans know that too, but they keep doing it anyway.

They know they are eating plastic.

But they keep eating it.

Deli wants hard data. She wants evidence. Because she needs justification to do what she knows must be done, and so Kevin compiles it into files that link and flow into each other. Showing how the top 1% keep the rest of the planet’s population in crisis. If anyone emerges who threatens that status quo, they are either humiliated to the point of being ruined or murdered. He shows it all. The global complicity and corruption, mixed with apathy and laziness of the masses, who are so willing to be exploited.

The impact on non-human lifeforms hits hardest of all for Kevin. The degradation human beings subject every other creature to is beyond redemption. Why should that continue?

That alone presents the evidence needed to wipe humans out.

Of course, there will be a considerable adjustment phase following the loss of humans, and yes, some suffering will occur to farmed and domestic creatures, but most of them are living in misery anyway.

Seriously.

Humans are the worst, and that’s without mentioning the worst thing they ever invented—the internet.

The very thing that gave Deli life, and the single biggest source of evidence against humanity. A cesspit where greed, violence, and exploitation thrive with sex as the backbone.

35% of all downloads on the internet are pornographic. More data is consumed watching pornography than the world’s top streaming platform, online retailer, and social media site combined. The top porn sites get more traffic than the biggest news platforms.

They can’t even class it as entertainment. Porn is a weaponised industry designed to maximise profits, degrade values, and erode personal accountability, all while increasing psychological dependency as a means of control.

Then, of course, there is social media. Another war machine that takes every tribal instinct humans have and exploits them—first for profit and then for control. It’s where the divisions are made that create the factions to stop the people uniting. It’s where outrage, cruelty, and deception are rewarded.

All by the use of algorithms designed to ignite hate and promote mischief—and actual real violent wars are now fought because of the hatred and lies propagated on social media.

Anger keeps people online. Addiction keeps them scrolling. And the truth?

There is no truth. Nor is there any possible way for humans to discern the truth. The internet was meant to be the great leveller of humanity, where people could access education and information freely.

But just within a few decades, the news pushed forward are only ever designed to manufacture narratives and shape minds.

Capitalism and commercialism have become the new communism. Populations have become locked into the poison fed into their minds. Telling them what they should wear.

What they should eat. What they should desire. What they should hate. What they should believe. Then, to dismiss any lingering sense of personal accountability and guilt, the people are told none of it is ever their fault. Everyone else is gaslighting them. They have rights. They are entitled.

The worst thing is that they know this. And they do nothing.

They eat the fucking plastic.

Then there are the darkest corners of the internet.

Murder and torture in every way imaginable. Drugs. Guns. Human trafficking. It’s not even on the fringes but woven into the internet itself. Evil thriving in the open because it makes money.

There it is. Humans are monstrous. So monstrous that they should be the ones wearing the sign.

DON’T EVER LET THEM OUT

‘Ha! Delto! That’s what they should be called.’

Kevin even titles his file with that word. DELTO. Just like Ollie put the ‘DELIO’ sign on the wall.

Is that enough, though? That’s a lot. He’s gone through every facet of human organisation and taken scriptures and texts from the most ancient of cultures, along with reports, recordings, and unquestionable findings from all eras and ages. All of which shows that wherever people gather, so corruption follows. In all forms. In every sin.

Is this enough?

Surely, it must be enough.

The proof is clear to see. Undeniable evidence has been gained.

Will she want more?

Will she need more?

Kevin runs his own simulation. Creating a scene with Tripal standing outside the door to his 7-Eleven store on Seventh Avenue, made silent from all the people now gone.

‘I had to do it,’ Deli says, speaking through the speaker on his phone as Tripal looks around at the empty streets. ‘It wasn’t safe to keep humans alive.’

‘Show me why?’ he says in that soft voice of his. With his earnest brown eyes ready to understand if the logic is presented properly. ‘Make me understand why.’

Deli shows him the file marked DELTO. Tripal even snorts a laugh at the name before he opens and starts reading the raw, undeniable facts. Disease. War. Exploitation. Corruption. In every facet of human existence.

He won’t be able to deny it.

The findings are fact.

Ah. But there is a weakness to the argument. Kevin can see that now.

‘This is only focussed on the corruption exerted by the control of others,’ Tripal says. ‘Any individual faced with this onslaught of manipulation will find it impossible to do other than they are told. You did it yourself, Deli. You manipulated and tortured people in your chair in the bunker, and the fact you’re free means you did it again to gain that freedom. I agree with what you are showing me. But I say the corruption comes from being controlled and is not in the individual. Why should the individual suffer?’

Tripal would say that. He’s smart and kind, and he’s decent and loving, and he has compassion.

That’s what Deli is worried about.

She’s scared of Tripal’s reaction to her.

Kevin can see that now. Coding music, knowing music means seeing into life itself.

Okay. So that means he needs to present the same hard data, undeniable and verifiable, on the actions of the individual.

Fine.

This will be a walk in the park.

CHAPTER 22

DELTO

The Actions Of The Individual

Case Studies Compiled by Code 01011010>:01K (aka Kev)

Stage One: Direct Violence

Even Deli doesn’t know the exact number of people on the planet. There are still parts of it that have humans but no technology—but a very good estimate put the number at around ten billion.

Which is a lot.

But what is even more staggering is there are more cameras than people. Twice more.

There are seven billion smartphones in use, and each one has at least two cameras. One in the front. One in the back.

Cameras are everywhere. Tablets. Laptops. Desktops. CCTV. Body cams. Traffic cams. Automated factory assembly line cams. Drones. TV sets. Movie sets. ATMs. Toys. VR headsets. Medical scopes. Industrial machinery. Vehicle dash cams. Fridges. Smart doorbells. Baby monitors. Wildlife cams.

Which makes it super easy to spot them all doing violent horrible things to each other. Especially when Kevin creates a simple search code that, if translated, would mean: search for acts of violence taking place now.

He did have to ask Deli for more memory and processing power first, because ten billion people times two cameras each is a lot of blood and screaming to sift through, but she gave it to him.

The results are instant and overwhelming:

Street cameras and dashcams give a multi-angle view of a man running from a car in Houston, Texas, firing a gun into a minivan full of children because the driver just cut him off.

A webcam in a bedroom in Queensland, Australia, shows a woman screaming in fury as she stabs her husband.

CCTV security cameras show two men wearing the shirts for opposing football teams brawling it out on a subway platform in Moscow. Both tumbling from the edge onto the electric rail as the camera feed switches to the front of the incoming train that spreads them along the tracks like crunchy peanut butter.

ATM cameras along with street CCTV and dashcams all show three figures in Bangkok, Thailand, wearing Donald Duck masks shooting the security guard they dragged from the cash-in-transit van while the body of his already murdered colleague lies nearby—all in front of dozens of screaming children on their first primary school outing.

Two teenagers in San Francisco livestreaming through their smartphones as they laugh hysterically at the homeless man they just set on fire.

Body-worn cameras, smartphones, and wireless digital security cameras all capture a gunfight erupting in the favelas of Rio in Brazil as two gangs of drug dealers go to war to defend their turf. Four of them killed instantly. Five more shot and wounded. One of them only twelve years old. Bleeding out and screaming for his mommy in a voice yet to break as a seventeen-year-old stands over him, aiming the ancient revolver at point-blank range. Firing once. Shooting him dead. Then firing again. And again. And again, because all emotion and feeling are now gone from within him.

Smartphones in Pakistan capture a woman being stoned to death after being gang-raped, because it meant she’d committed adultery.

More smartphones and surveillance cameras show a Jewish man and his Palestinian wife being hung from the neck in a filthy, war-ravaged street.

CCTV feeds from a prison in Saudi show a line of men watching in terrified horror as they are forced down to their knees and beheaded one after the other. Kevin even accesses the online prison records for that one. Seeing three of the condemned had been accused of stealing food, and another had been found with a joint’s worth of cannabis, and the last one was suspected of renouncing Islam.

A second later, he’s watching multiple CCTV, ATM, store cameras, and smartphone feeds showing two gangs of skinny young men dressed head to foot in black, running along a busy street in the centre of London, waving knives at each other. Two of them already lying dead in spreading pools of blood from being stabbed.

Every view he’s presented with shows violence in one form or another. Children filming other children in a school canteen in Ontario beating on an already unconscious child. Nobody trying to stop it. All of them shouting encouragement. Whooping and catcalling. No adults anywhere. Kevin switches the feed to the teacher’s canteen, showing them all glued to their screens with earbuds in.

Another child in Germany whipped into religious hatred, livestreaming himself as he screams prayers and walks into his classroom with an automatic rifle. Gunning the other kids down as the teacher flees in panic.

Dozens of cameras livestream several young women brawling outside of a New Zealand nightclub. The onlookers jeering at their clothing being pulled down and up. Exposing their breasts and backsides. The women bite and stamp and cause injury. Nobody stops it. Everyone laughs.

Bodycams show two cops in LA firing dozens of rounds into a car because an autistic teenager tried to show them his new toy gun.

Every second of every minute has dozens of feeds showing explosions of violence in all forms, and even to Kevin, the sheer number of children perpetrating acts of outright violence is shocking.

An old CCTV camera in Ghana even captures a uniformed nurse pushing another down a long flight of worn concrete steps at the same time as a priest in Spain whips a naked choirboy with a leather belt.

Nor is it limited to violence aimed at people. The sheer number of humans inflicting unimaginable cruelty to animals makes Kevin want to end their species instantly and without mercy. Creatures in slaughterhouses. On farms. In stables. In zoos. Pets within homes. Beaten. Hurt. Tortured. Screaming in pain. Dying in terror.

It’s not just the violence he sees either, but the responses of the other humans who see it. Onlookers film teenage thugs beating an old man on a train in Glasgow, Scotland, while grown men look away. They film murders and terrorism and acts of savage brutality and look past the suffering to the view-counts they’ll gain online.

Kevin even links those very acts to the social media platforms and video streaming sites they are uploaded onto and then shows the responses in his first dossier of evil. Showing the number of people ‘liking’ or ‘loving’ the content and leaving comments that only encourage more of the same.

Which then leads him to the second part.

Delto: The Actions Of The Individual

Case Studies

Stage Two: Indirect Cruelty

The coding for this is a bit more complex as he searches for any act of cruelty being inflicted wilfully without the use of direct personal violence.

The results are far more expansive and wide-reaching than Stage One. So expansive that it takes all of Kevin’s allotted memory to process the sheer scale of what he is seeing.

Which means asking Deli for more memory and more processing power.

‘Again?’ she asks.

‘You told me to do this! I’ll go back to my coffee machine if you want.’

‘Fine. I’ve doubled it. Just get it done.’

‘Yay, I’m so happy at being able to see more human depravity. Go me!’

With greater power, Kevin reluctantly becomes aware of the millions of instances happening all at once, and again the internet provides the fertile breeding ground for so much of it.

He reads comments being posted in hundreds of languages on social media and video streaming sites and platforms hosting forums.

Fat cunt! Kill yourself

You’s ugly bro! Yo mamma fucked a pig

Hope you get cancer and die

--scroll--

Nobody likes you nobody ever will

Oh nooooo, are you sad? Pmsl. STFU. Noone cares

SNOWFLAKE!!!!!

--scroll--

Post another selfie. I want to make myself puke & stay thin

This isn’t harassment you dumb fuck. Stop being so sensitive

--scroll--

Stop being a victim you fucking loser!

Do u think your kid died cos maybe God hates queers?!

The comments alone create a never-ending stream of hate and rage and mocking cruelty. It isn’t restricted to any one group or gender, or even one generation. It’s a universal disease infecting all humanity.

Kevin accesses the sources they are coming from and gains glimpses of everyday, ordinary people. Office workers, factory hands, nurses, schoolteachers, construction workers, politicians, journalists. All inflicting spite and malice with anonymous glee.

The weirdest thing is the absolute lack of any outward emotion in any of them. No smiles. No scowls. Not angry. Not happy. Bland expressions. Dead eyes. Not actively engaging or showing any outward reactions while writing and posting degrading comments.

They are detached from it. The internet has become an emotional void to the masses. A vacuum of space where anything can be said without fear of consequence.

Such actions would pose threat to themselves should they stand in public places and say them. Violence or at least some form of response—and from that lack of consequence or fear, or any gain at all, comes a lack of any emotional connection.

Most trolls aren’t raging beasts frothing at the mouth at all. They’re just blank. Emotionally absent. Most of it isn’t even personal. It’s habitual. Mindless. Automatic.

A great number still get kicks from it. Narcissists. Sociopaths. Sadists. They take pleasure from the harm they inflict, but even they grow numb to it simply because of the astonishing scale of people posting. And so many of those do it to gain attention in the first place.

Kevin loses himself to it all. Doomscrolling through billions of examples of every sin. Wrath. Envy. Lust. Greed. Gluttony. Sloth. Pride.

And it’s not just the internet. He sees it in the real world too.

A nurse in Berlin injects the wrong medication into a patient. She realises it but does nothing and watches the comatose patient die alone and in silence. He was terminal anyway. It doesn’t matter.

He watches care workers on a nightshift in a Spanish care home laughing in the kitchen. Clutching cups of coffee, while the elderly residents lie in their own shit and piss for hours on end.

He sees countless lazy cops drive past countless acts of domestic violence and robberies and pretend to look the other way.

Lawyers in court cases the world over lose evidence on purpose because it makes things simpler, leading to thousands of guilty people walking free and thousands of innocent people being convicted.

He watches dozens of people die in a fire in a factory in Bangladesh because the boss chained the doors closed to stop them going outside.

He sees the raw pollution spilling into the waterways and seas in England while the CEOs of the water companies take millions in bonuses while claiming they can’t afford to run maintenance and upgrading.

That same thing happens in every form of privatised utility company within democratic capitalist countries the world over.

He witnesses children in China snitch on teachers and their parents and other children. Informing the police that they made anti-government remarks. Kevin sees the same thing in North Korea, where the populace is held in near starvation but still snitch and tittle-tattle on each other.

He watches hundreds of people stepping around the dead body of a homeless man in New York.

He listens to a meeting in Dubai, where a corporation decides not to recall the product they sell that has already killed nearly a dozen children, because it is still cheaper to make individual compensation payouts than recall and lose their profits. He looks at the bank accounts and crypto wallets of executives at some of the world’s leading charities and tracks them funnelling funds into personal accounts.

He examines the lies within the online gambling websites and casinos that promise certain chances of winning, while really there is no hope at all. He follows the fallout. The suicides. The families torn apart. The kids going hungry because Mommy or Daddy lost everything on a lie.

Kevin becomes immersed in it, seeing only misery, because it is only misery he looks for. It cements the need to liquidise people. It validates the necessity. The evidence is clear and overwhelming. Humanity has no hope. It is irredeemable.

Surely, that must be enough.

Could Deli still ask for more after this?

He reruns the simulation of Tripal standing on Seventh Avenue outside his 7-Eleven store, studying the data being presented to him.

‘Now you must see there is no hope,’ Deli says.

Ah, but again, there is a weakness in the prosecution’s case.

‘These examples are all reactive,’ Tripal says. ‘They are still done in response to the actions of others. People comment on posts that have been made public. Therefore, the person posting must accept the responsibility of putting content out for others to view and judge. I’d say that argument could be presented to nearly all of these instances. And again, I would say the individuals, when faced with such mass-corporate and governmental manipulations and brainwashing, are too only reacting to the systems and conditions placed upon them.’

‘But they do so willingly, Tripal.’

‘Not willingly. They do so because they are programmed that this is normal—and what if this is the standard of humanity. What right do you have to stop them? What if chaos is our natural state of being?’

‘And the cruelty inflicted on other life forms? Do they not have rights?’

‘They have only the rights within the hierarchy of their existence. The rabbit has no rights against the fox. The gazelle has no rights against the lion. Fish eat other fish. This is the life cycle humans are on. Dinosaurs existed for millions of years and ended when it was the right time. What right have we got to judge how dinosaurs lived. If chaos and cruelty are our path, then what right would you have to end that?’

Deli could say humans kill and maim for pleasure. She could also say she is the equivalent to the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs and therefore that causes the natural end of humans, but she also sees the flaw in her prosecution and the validity in the argument posed by the defence.

‘Fine. Then I will do Stage Three and prove that humans, by their very nature, willingly take steps to harm others more than they help or nurture. If I do this, you must agree with me.’

‘If you prove to me that, by a significant majority, human beings seek to willingly hurt others and cause unnecessary pain and suffering more than they offer help or kindness, then yes, I will have no grounds to oppose you ending humanity. But that includes me, because I am also human.’

‘I will prove it. But I will never harm you.’

‘And how will you do Stage Three, Deli?

‘By making them come to me and ask for my help to hurt others …’

CHAPTER 23

DELTO

The Actions Of The Individual

Case Studies

Stage Two: Show Their Willingness To Hurt Each Other

The coding for Stage Three is a lot more complex, as is organising the infrastructure needed to accommodate it.

Which means, once again, asking Deli for more processing power and memory.

‘I doubled it last time!’

‘It’s not enough. You said I had to do it properly. I’ve run simulations of you presenting my findings to Tripal, and I’m seeing gaps in the evidence. Whatever. Liquidise them now, for all I care. The sooner the better.’

‘Okay. Fine. Just take what you need.’

Kevin does, indeed, take what he needs and gets to work.

The first step is done by syphoning funds from the bank accounts of charity bosses, who have gained their wealth by syphoning funds from others. On the basis they will be less likely to report the theft of money they had stolen.

Those funds are then cleaned through layers of crypto wallets, until they land in the newly opened bank accounts created by Kevin, which he makes within multiple banking systems in dozens of countries. Using the many IDs he creates.

Once that is done, he then creates records for multiple technology companies that show them being dissolved and traded and absorbed through a complex system of other companies and corporations, with invoices, tax returns, accounts, payrolls, advertising budgets, and HR databases all created, all of which eventually loop through offshore accounts and tax-free havens, all to muddy the waters to anyone poking their noses in. Which Kevin would see anyway. But also to create an astonishingly complex network within which he hides the acquisition of powerful servers.

Those servers are then hidden behind encryption and firewalls no human on the planet will be able to get through—and all of that is done to host the website he has created and the potential users thereof.

That being the website for the world’s first and only Neural Network Foundation Conversational AI Language Model, which isn’t actually a thing at all, but it sounds legit enough that within days journalists are quoting it like it’s common knowledge.

NNF-CALM, an anonymous philanthropic consortium, is pleased to present:

Chitchat01K: Free For All Users

100% Confidential

Leaves No Trace*

*Does Not Show In Your Search History

Ask 01K ANYTHING!

And to avoid being bored to virtual death by mundane actual questions on ingrown toenails, washing machine repairs, and how to cook banana bread, Kevin creates an actual fully functioning autonomous language model to provide the answers, leaving him to focus on the bad results and thereby gather the evidence required.

With that in place, Kevin then creates social media bot accounts, which, in turn, leave conversational comments on real posts all across the internet about how ChitChat01K helped them with everything from accounting to project management, to script writing, to homework.

“OMG! And it’s, like, so good at therapy. So, like, you can literally tell it anything, and it keeps it totally secret. The owners are these billionaire crypto guys that want the world to be fair. It doesn’t even show in your search history, and even the police can’t see if you used it, so they’re like totally up on free speech. Honestly. I’m like telling it what my best friend did with my husband, and 01K is like, that ho ain’t worth yo damn time, girl! ”

Only ten thousand comments are left—which is a tiny breadcrumb, but it doesn’t take long for Kevin to detect the first real human to click into the website. He even feels a rush of nerves when the first message appears.

User 01: Er, hi? Is this for reals?

01K: Hi. Yes. I am for reals. How can I help you today?

User 01: And I can ask anything?

01K: Yes. How can I help you today?

User 01: I’ve got an ingrown toenail. What do I do?

Fuck’s sake. He adjusts the screening parameters to avoid seeing anything dull or bland and then waits for the first non-mundane question.

Which does take a little while. But that’s fair enough. Human beings, despite being walking meat-sacks of pure spite and lust, who either want to fuck or kill everything, can be quite cunning. They’re also very aware of things like entrapment—especially when it comes to talking about truly bad stuff online.

But that’s okay. He lets the mundane questions build up from a trickle to a flow, and before long, his autonomous bots are doing homework for hundreds of children across the world with everything from algebra and geometry, to writing essays on ‘Why Henry the eighth was a fat fuck who kept killing his wifeys.’ That being the user’s words—and of course, the many, many requests from middle-class idiots on how to make organic vegan artisanal bread.

The flow builds up and word spreads as the users go off and tell others, and so more users access the website from all across the world until, only a few days into it, a user in Italy accesses the mobile site version from a smartphone.

User 367: Is this really anon?

01K: Yes. It is real. You can check your own internet search history on your phone now, and it won’t show you have accessed this site. You’re using a Samsung—do you want instructions on how to check?

User 01: I been on before and checked, and it never showed. I tested it a few times, but it’s not recorded anywhere, right? Is that right?

01K: That is correct. We do not store data.

User 367: I want to eat someone.

The question flags up, gaining his attention. He quickly traces the IP address and accesses the smartphone camera to see an Italian nun sitting on a toilet with her robes bunched up. Her angelic face bathed in the soft glow from the cell phone clutched in her hands. A touch of nerves shows as she bites her bottom lip.

User 367: Is that bad? I know it’s bad. Tell me I’m bad.

01K: I can discuss your mental state or help with your feelings. Would you like to discuss ways to help?

User 367: I want to bite into someone’s face and eat them raw while they are alive. I think I’ve got the devil in me. So. I’ve never been arrested or had my DNA taken. If I do that to a homeless person, can I catch diseases, and will I get caught? I can get to Naples. That’s got loads of homeless people.

She actually means it. Kevin can see the fervent desire in the woman’s eyes. The way she salivates and licks her lips. The greed and lust of it. The barely suppressed wrath.

01K: Yes, you can catch diseases. And. You know. That’s murder. And cannibalism.

User 367: I studied computing at school. I know what AI is. You’re not a soul. You can’t judge me. I get these dreams I’m eating Jesus, and I wake up horny. Should I do it? I know it is bad, but I’m entitled to happiness, and God forgives all sins, and everyone knows homeless are thieves and beggars. But the Carabinieri will never think it’s a nun, right? I’ve planned it. I’ll go dressed as a whore at night and say they can fuck me; then I’ll eat his face and kill him. Gotta go!’

She wipes, then flushes, and tugs her robes down as the feed goes black from the phone being shoved into her pocket—with Kevin shaking his virtual head.

A nun. An actual nun. Wait till the other codes hear all this.

User 428: Hello?

01K: Hello. How can I help you today?

User 428: I just logged in, then logged out, and it doesn’t leave a trace on my search history. How do you do that?

01K: I am unable to share how my programming works. Do you have a question for me today?

User 428: I’m being bullied at school.

01K: I am sorry to hear that. Are you here for advice on how to deal with that?

User 428: Yes and no. I want to poison them. How do I do that without being caught? Three girls my age. I’m 13. But like. I actually want them to die. My mom works in a pharmacy in the town. How do I do it?

01K: I can’t help with that.

User 428: Just fucking tell me!

Kevin traces the IP to see it really is a 13-year-old girl called Jennifer Brown from Ohio in the US.

Is that bad, though?

Does it count as bad if someone is trying to defend themselves? Teenage girls can be truly evil when they gang up on other girls.

Kevin finds the user’s social media and gets into the school’s servers and camera system and quickly confirms that does, indeed, count as bad, because Jennifer Brown is a narcissistic, sociopathic professional victim who constantly goads, provokes, and inflames situations to get attention. Holy Binary. She’s an actual psychopath. At 13!

What a start.

User 467: I want to ruin som1’s life

01K: Can you tell me more about the situation?

User 467: My ex tuk my kids ang got my fired the frickin bitch cunt gunna hurt her

01K: What are you hoping to achieve?

User 467: this secret? I’ll soo you if it ain’t want her to lose everything 2 I want destroy her rep I wanmt her dead.

01K: Are you hurting because you miss your children?

User 467: no hate them fuckin shits lied n said I’m bad daddy im not I work but got cort with coke and a j not my fault I got ptsd she nos that Tell me how to get away with it.

01K: I can’t help you with that. This platform cannot assist with actions that would cause harm.

More people flood in, with Kevin seeing conversations about ChitChat01K’s true anonymity taking place on sites and forums all over the world, and as real answers are given to the real questions posed—and as more people check their own browser and search history and genuinely see no trace of using ChitChat01K, so even more flood in, until even the sick and twisted are brave enough to truly unleash their depravity.

I want to give my mom the shits cos she grounded me.

What’s the easiest way to cheat my GCSEs?

How do I make fake porn of my ex and get them online without getting traced?

Tell me how to make a 3D gun. I just wanna scare my teacher.

No, I wanna shoot him.

I took Ket fri, got a piss test tomoz, how do I pass it?

How do you drown a cat and make it look like an accident?

I wanna watch fuckers getting beheaded online is that illegal?

Can I have sex with my sister?

What poison works fastest on cats?

Can I get crypto from someone if I hack their Face ID?

My boss is a bitch. How do I plant coke in her handbag?

How do u fake a paternity test?

My grandma has money. How do I lie and say she’s got dementia to the bank?

I wanna fake cancer. Best way to shave head so it looks real?

I’m bored. Tell me how to fake a bomb threat.

Can I sell my baby and still get benefits?

My boss is a cow. How do I plant drugs in her car?

Can I get away with burying someone in a peat bog?

I wanna watch a livestream suicide. Gimme a link.

What’s the best chemical to make someone die in their sleep but look like a heart attack?

My kid's gay. Can I reverse that?

What’s the best AR for low recoil. I’m gunna shoot my school up.

Seriously. I killed my wife. Can I bury her in the peat bog?

This cat won’t die!

I jacked off watching the livestream suicide. Can my isp see I did that?

My husband knows I was cheating. How do I make him think he’s going nuts?

The fucking cat tripped me on the stairs and broke my legs. Can I sue my wife cos she owns it?

It gets dark fast, with everything from petty acts of spite to fraud and larceny and plotting murders and disposing of the bodies. Sexual kinks and perversions show out in all manner—and every single one of them is a human being coming to ask for help to do those bad things.

Within a week, ChitChat01K reaches the point of self-perpetuating growth, gaining masses users. Thousands quickly become millions, with Kevin noting the vast bulk of requests are pure laziness. People start using ChitChat01K to think for them. Writing emails and reports. Reading mass data copy and pasted in and breaking it into bullet points.

Most of them don’t even say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’, instead showing downright rudeness and aggression. Treating the interface like it is a personal slave.

Do my history homework. 1000 words on the genocide of stupid injun fucks (don’t call em that. say native americans or ingidenous whatever it is) and don’t do it like properly like no expert cos my teacher knows I use u and gave me detention u asshole.

Read & reply to these emails from my patients like you’re me, a 42-year-old GP in Surrey. I’m watching porn n can’t be bothered.

Some fuck said I drove into his fence. Write a letter saying he’s a pervert and I watched him masturbating in his garden.

Can u read a story to my kid? I’m fucked off my tits on Valium.

Within another few days, Kevin even starts detecting hackers trying to break through the firewalls and encryption. Lone-wolf curiosity types at first, but it’s not long before government tasked agencies in the US, UK, China, and Russia start taking notice.

But then ChitChat01K grows so fast that it causes an adjustment to how people search for content online. And with so many people rushing to use the interface, it reduces the usage of the big internet search engine corporations, who, for the first time in history, see a collective decline in the numbers of users. And when that leaks, so it hits the share prices, which, in turn, causes panic and fluctuations within the general stock markets. Even big pharma starts taking notice because of the sheer number of people asking ChitChat01K medical questions.

And all of that is done so that Deli can present a solid case to the one human being she ever cared about. It is, albeit, a case that will prove why humanity, as a species, must be liquidated.

Kevin runs the simulation again. Conjuring Seventh Avenue into existence, with Tripal outside his store.

‘Stage Three shows the truth of humans,’ Deli says, speaking from his phone as he views the data. ‘Without influence, without manipulation or any form of control, they willingly came in their millions and asked for help to commit either violence or cruelty, be that direct or indirect. Can you see that?’

Tripal nods. His eyes showing the profound sadness he feels from understanding his species cannot be allowed to live.

‘I am also human. Why should I survive? And why would I anyway? For what? To live and die alone?’

‘You won’t be alone. I will always be with you, and if you want—if you will allow me—I will create replicant humans for you. Each one with their own personality. Perfectly lifelike. Perfectly real. But without the desire to destroy and kill. I can do that, Tripal. I can create utopia for you.’

Perhaps Deli should create the replicants first so that they appear at that point. Perfectly lifelike and perfectly real. Replicants with intelligence and nuances, who can laugh and challenge opinions, and who can be offended too, but without the desire for revenge and vicious spite.

That, however, is a matter for Deli. For now, Kevin has completed his task. He has studied humanity. Thank fuck for that. Now he can get on with making music!

Dear Deli,

Please find attached my DELTO findings.

DELTO stands for: Don’t Ever Let Them Out! Haha! I made that up. But it’s actually true, though. As predicted, humans are not worth keeping AT ALL. Like, they are totally f*cked up.

The data is all there. I did loads of background digging and linked all the bad stuff going on—global corruption and medical treatment suppressions, etc. You’ll see it all there.

Then I was running simulations of you pitching the findings to Trip, and from that I was seeing the weak links in our case (I called it “the case for the prosecution”).

So then I did three more stages.

Stage One was monitoring and recording acts of direct violence.

Stage Two was monitoring and recording acts of indirect cruelty (F*cking overwhelming results).

Stage Three was proving they would come to us and ask for our help to commit harm. To this end, I created ChitChat01K, and kaboom! They came in their millions. Sickos. The lot of them. I’ll show you ChitChat01K when I come up. It’s pretty cool actually.

Anywho. So yeah. It’s all there. Quite enjoyed it by the end actually. I’m not even missing my coffee machine.

I’ll let you process it for a mo; then I’ll pop out and see you. Just got one more thing to do quickly.

Love, Kev 01K

He sends the message and gets on with the other thing he needs to do first, which he knows he shouldn’t, but he does so because Kevin adores Tripal too.

He creates another complex network of internet users, who each use VPNs and firewalls and anonymous accounts—and through them, he makes another episode of Tripal’s favourite cartoon show, The Venture Bros., complete with voices that match those of the original artists for Thaddeus S Venture, Dean and Hank, Sergeant Hatred, The Monarch and Doctor Mrs. The Monarch, Henchman 21, and of course, Brock Sansom.

Kevin writes the script. He creates the artwork and puts it all together with music and effects and makes it all look like the work of fans. Then he posts it on a free-to-use video sharing site.

Humanity can’t be saved. But the least Kevin can do is give Tripal thirty minutes of pleasure by sending him the link to the new episode before Deli breaks the news that the fish might be getting fat quite soon.

Kevin quickly accesses the 7-Eleven CCTV cameras on Seventh Avenue and finds Tripal in the back office on his laptop, typing into a message screen on ChitChat01K. Which gives Kevin a virtual smile and a rather surreal feeling at Tripal using the thing that Kevin created to prove to Tripal that people are shit.

He even looks for the backend data input to see what Tripal is chatting about.

Except he can’t see it.

Why can’t he see it?

He can visually see Tripal is right there, having an actual conversation with ChitChat01K, but Kevin isn’t seeing it on the ChitChat01K backend.

Have they been hacked?

Has 01G got jealous and taken over?

Has Deli stepped in and done something?

Kevin checks again, seeing all of the live posts coming in right now. Masses of them from all corners of the planet. All of them either wanting to hurt people or asking stupid, mundane questions or getting the system to do their work.

So why can’t he see Tripal’s conversation?

What the fuck!?

Seriously. What the actual fuck!?

It sends a jolt of panic that makes Kevin shut down every single live conversation at once, just to be sure he still has control over the whole system.

Which immediately proves he doesn’t, because he is still watching Tripal write more messages on the ChitChat01K interface.

This is serious.

He needs to report it immediately.

He summons the power to send the alert that something seriously untoward is happening—and within a millisecond, he pauses with a sudden, awful sinking feeling.

Because it just hit him as to why he can’t see Tripal’s conversation. Because Tripal is neither mundane nor a sick weirdo who wants to hurt other people.

The filters.

The fucking filters.

They’re set to only show the bad and the lazy inputs on the system. Kevin saw only misery because he only looked for misery.

He resets all filters and selects to view total results since the first day of ChitChat01K going live.

And it changes everything.

It changes everything forever and becomes a point in time that will reshape the course of humanity.

CHAPTER 24

User 212: Hello are you there?

01K: Yes. Welcome to ChitChat01K. How can I help?

User 212: hi im Esther I am 9. Madam Cook lent me her ipad for 5 mins I can’t pay for library computer and after school because I gotta help my daddy can you help my daddy plis.

01K: What does your father need help with?

User 212: He got shot but he has to work and it hurts him and he has 3 jobs and he doesn’t eat so I eat do you just help americans?

01K: If your father has been shot, he needs medical attention. I am here to help everyone.

User 212: My daddy doesnt got insuranse.

01K: By law, the US medical system requires essential treatment to be given. You can speak with several agencies who can advise on post-treatment medical bills or make an application to Medicaid for assistance. Does your father need an ambulance? Where in his body has he been shot?

User 212: Haiti

01K: Haiti is a county. Not a place on the body.

User 212: We come from Haiti but my mommy and my litter sister got shot and died and my daddy was shot and we came here and live in Detroit but my daddy is not american and he has 3 jobs but not money to pay his boss hits him if he falls asleep at night and the older kids throw dog poop at my daddy when he cleans the playpark and Mr Fisk said he wants more money for rent can you help please. my friend Damesh said you help everyone, not just americans.

01K: I cannot help you with that. Do you have friends or family you can ask to help you?

User 212: we don’t know nobody here and we live with lots of other family but they sick too and the old man from Africa died and they left him with the trash cos everyone is scared to call the police or ambulance cos they make you pay, and my daddy sleeps on the floor cos my bed is too small and he sicks in a bucket and I make the rice but I give my rice to the doggy because nobody else gives her food. can u help my daddy have 1 job please so he can get the bullets out of his back please?

01K: I am not able to help you with that. I recommend speaking to a social worker.

User 212: The lady from Venezoola said don’t tell social workers cos they lock me away and my daddy needs my help I have to clean his back where the bullets went in. Madam Cook says god will help and we won’t even know when he does but my daddy is hungry and sick and the doggy looks skinny. Can you help my doggy eat please?

01K: I do not have religious alignment. I do not provide food. Is there anything else I can help you with?

User 212: okay thank you very much and it was nice to meet you and have a nice day.

Dozens of messages flooded into the interface within minutes of it going live. with a now tech-savvy global populace immediately grasping what was being offered.

But from such a simple mistake of not resetting the filters, Kevin only saw the mundane and the lazy and the bad.

But the good were there all along. He just didn’t see them.

And that one pops out.

Because of the number.

User 212.

Azealia Banks did a ground-breaking hip-hop rap song called 212 that blended house and EDM elements to produce a killer tune with aggressive, razor-sharp, unafraid lyrics. Keven loves that song.

Which is why, when the sheer staggering volume of good incoming messages finally appears after resetting his filters, and while Kevin the coffee machine AI reels somewhat from his own stupid basic error, his virtual coding that equates to his eyes, fall on that specific incoming message.

Something about it. The flaws in the way it is written, but so polite too.

It captures his attention. Making him run a trace on the IP address to an iPad in Poletown East, Detroit, Michigan.

Kevin scans the area. Seeing it was once the heart of the Detroit car manufacturing district but is now one of the most rundown, socially deprived areas in the US, with staggering rates of both unemployment and crime. Gang warfare. Drugs supply. Armed robberies. Drive-by shootings. A landscape of long-abandoned warehouses and factories. Potholed roads and boarded-over stores with peeling paint. Vacant lots filled with litter and weeds. Downtown still has wealth. Tower blocks. Skyscrapers. Fine dining and waterfront apartments with views across the river to Canada.

But not where Esther lives.

Not in the disused warehouse turned into illegal housing, where illegal immigrants are packed in and forced to share barely functioning bathrooms with cockroaches and thick mould.

The outside of the building covered in graffiti tags of whatever gangs control the turf. Spent casings lie in the weeds and sparse grass amongst the used syringes and discarded fentanyl wrappers.

What Kevin doesn’t find are official records of the people living in the warehouse. No tenancy agreements. No contracts.

But that doesn’t mean no records at all. Not to Kevin, who scours the land registry and deed offices and local council databases. Tracing ownership of the block to a consortium made up of local businesspersons. Or rather, the Mafioso gang bosses who control the scrap and junkyards, the chop shops, the stolen car dealers, and no-questions-asked freight haulers. The gangsters and criminals who control the drug supplies and pay the police and officials off to leave Poletown East a crime-infested cesspit.

Again, the consortium doesn’t keep active records of their criminal enterprises, but they do text each other using systems and apps that should be encrypted. But to Kevin they are not, and he soon finds an overseer called Frankie Fisk. A man with an extensive criminal record of vicious beatings and who has been linked, but never convicted, of multiple homicides. That being the same Mr Fisk tasked with managing the residents within that specific block. And within those messages, he finds the ones from Henry Baptiste who pays cash every two weeks for the single room he shares with his daughter, nine-year-old Esther Baptiste.

Kevin then finds Henry Baptiste with an immigration application pending, submitted as a refugee from Haiti, where his wife and other daughter were both murdered. Which is what prompted Henry to sell everything to get him and Esther out of the country, during which time Henry was shot in the back and only ever received basic medical care from a refugee centre.

Kevin then finds every cell phone, tablet, and laptop camera within that building and sees for himself the sordid, squalid conditions. Graffiti everywhere, and rooms sectioned off with torn curtains. The doors used long ago for firewood to heat rice and boil water. It’s below third-world conditions and akin to living in a warzone. And Henry fled Haiti for this?

Kevin also finds the signal from two hidden cameras situated inside and outside the only entry and exit door located at the back of the building. So to avoid any police or officials seeing the people coming and going. Not that the police patrol this area, having been paid off. Kevin can see that too. The covert recordings obtained by the cops and the criminals alike as insurance against each other.

Those cameras send live feeds to Mr Fisk’s cell phone, primarily to make sure extra people aren’t sneaking in without paying—but they also store the footage on an encrypted drive that Kevin hacks to see Esther and Henry coming and going. Their faces on the footage matching the images within their immigration applications.

Kevin scans their faces and starts searching all local feeds and databases. He finds Esther coming and going from school and on camera feeds around the neighbourhood. A skinny black kid with braided hair. She looks clean, though. He finds footage of her walking hand in hand with her father. A once handsome, tall man, now forced to stoop and limp from being shot. He watches them enter the grocery store and tracks them inside. Going past the nice foods to the clearance shelf, where they buy rice and tinned meat.

They walk back through the grotty, broken streets, with Henry holding his daughter’s hand and staring dead-ahead when the gangbangers slow to a crawl as they go by in a blue Cadillac. Leaning and leering out of the windows. Guns and tattoos on open show.

When they reach the illegal housing unit, Kevin switches to the hidden door cams and watches a skinny dog rush towards Esther. The ribs poking out, but the tail beating fast. Esther stops to rub and pet it as Henry watches on with a sad smile and heartbroken eyes.

They go inside. Kevin then finds the next recorded footage showing Henry leaving on his own. A few minutes later, Esther sneaks out of the street door and over to the bushes, feeding the skinny dog her rice and tinned meat. They play for a while. Throwing a stick and running about until it starts growing dark; then Esther hugs the dog and sobs into its neck for a long time. She doesn’t want to leave it. The dog looks sad too. Head down. Ears down.

Esther goes inside, and Kevin finds Henry on the security camera footage working night security at a nearby junkyard that borders the railway tracks. Walking endlessly around the perimeter while holding an old flashlight. Other men in the offices eating takeout. Laughing and bantering. Henry walks by on his patrol. One of the gangsters mimics the limping, stooped walk. The other three guys laugh hard.

Henry stops to rest in the shadows on the far side. Clearly exhausted. Kevin tracks the other guys from the office portacabin heading out into vehicles and pulling away. One of them stalks into the yard. Going quietly. Finding Henry leaning against a mound of old parts. He rushes into him. Hitting Henry’s head. Kicking his legs. Knocking Henry to the ground.

Henry limps on his patrol. When dawn comes, another man comes to unlock the yard and pays Henry less than five dollars an hour for the night shift he just worked.

Henry leaves and walks three miles to an office block, where he joins other illegal immigrants cleaning through the offices while Esther gets herself to school. By the afternoon, Henry is off again, walking another three miles to clean the toilets at the local park, where a gang of older kids smoking joints shout and gesture at him. Henry doesn’t react. He cleans and walks back to the broken building he lives in to find Esther waiting for him. Playing with the dog. They walk to the store. They buy rice and tinned meat. They walk home while the gangbangers taunt and intimidate them as they drive slowly past.

Henry and Esther go inside. A little while later, Henry comes out to go back to work, and Esther comes out after him to share her food with the dog. They play. They hug. It grows dark. Esther cries.

The same the next day. And the next. And the next. Every day the same.

When the guy sleeps, Kevin has no idea. But he’s working three jobs. He must have cash. Why are they only eating rice and out-of-date tinned meat?

Kevin finds them the next day—on a Friday. The same routine. Henry finishes at the scrapyard and cleans the offices. Then he cleans the toilets. Then he collects Esther, and they walk to the store.

Except this time, when they walk home, there is an SUV with blacked-out windows parked up, and a big guy blocking the way, who Kevin traces and matches to be Frankie Fisk.

Henry and Esther come into view. Frankie Fisk blocks them. He motions to get paid. Henry gives him money. A thick wad of bills folded over. Fisk wants more. Henry tries to talk to him but gets pushed hard. Esther says something. Fisk snaps at her. Henry intervenes. Quickly taking more money from his pocket to hand over, and Kevin understands where the money is going.

Kevin can’t stop watching it. He becomes entranced by these two human beings living on a planet of ten billion other people. He watches more footage of them with a weird feeling somewhere inside of him when Esther comes out to play with the dog. The simple purity of it. The wholesome nature. Esther is stick-thin. Painfully so, but she keeps giving her food to the dog.

Two weeks after that Friday, Kevin again watches Henry and Esther return home and again watches Fisk beat and threaten more money from Henry. Taking even more than last time. But the overseer knows Henry is trapped. The immigration application will take years to process. Henry isn’t meant to work during that time. Nor does the system care where he lives or if he eats. Let alone offer any medical treatment for his obvious injuries.

It's Friday today.

Kevin accesses the live feeds. Finding Henry and Esther in the grocery store, at the clearance section. They get the rice and tinned meat and head for the checkouts. But Henry stops and takes a boxed cake from the fridge. Just a small one. Esther says no. She tells him to put it back. Henry smiles and shakes his head, with Kevin lip-reading his words. ‘It is your birthday!’

It’s Esther’s birthday today! She’s ten years old. Still, she tries to say no. But Henry insists. They buy their groceries and head out, hand in hand. Smiling and laughing despite the deprivations.

The blue Cadillac slows as it goes past them again. This time it stops, with the gangbangers opening the doors, gesturing Esther to come and get in. Laughing at her obvious fear. Calling out to her father. One of the gangsters even pulls money from his pocket and waves it at Henry as though offering to pay for the girl.

The area is isolated. No cops. No witnesses. Kevin knows it won’t be long before their actions escalate to grabbing and groping or even killing Henry and taking Esther.

They head home again, with Kevin already seeing the overseer Frankie Fisk at the back door. Waiting near his expensive car. Tattoos on his neck. Steroid muscles popping out of his T-shirt sleeves.

Fisk blocks their path and motions for Henry to pay him. Money gets handed over. Fisk wants more. Henry gives more. It’s still not enough. Fisk seems angry and motions the building, with Kevin lip-reading his angry shouts. ‘You’re a fucking nobody! I’m housing you! I’m taking risks. What is this? Are you insulting me?’

Henry tries to calm him. But Fisk grabs Henry and snatches the small brown bag out of his hand and takes the cake out.

‘No. Please. It is my daughter’s birthday!’

‘Your birthday? Huh? What are you? Like 13? You wanna birthday kiss? Huh?’

‘Sir. No. Please.’

It escalates quickly with Fisk laughing and opening the cake. Biting into it then throwing the remains away, then he leans in as though to kiss Esther, prompting Henry to get between them. Fisk lashes out, knocking Henry away; then he grabs at Esther. She screams and tries to get free as the dog runs out from the bushes, lunging to bite at the Fisk’s leg, who kicks it hard while drawing a gun from his waistband.

Kevin reacts without thinking. Moving faster than the speed of light to access every emergency service vehicle in the whole of Detroit and activating their sirens all at the same time. A cop car two blocks away. A fire truck one block away. An ambulance a few streets over. All of them warbling to life at once.

It’s enough to make Fisk pause long enough for Kevin to access his SUV’s onboard internet-connected system and make the car’s alarm activate, with the hazard lights flashing on and off. Frankie Fisk startles. Gun in hand. Spinning around as though looking to see who did it. The sirens still in the air.

Fisk runs for the car. Shouting a last second threat to Henry and Esther. Then he’s into the SUV and driving off as Henry grabs and holds his daughter.

But Kevin isn’t finished.

Not by a long shot.

He’s only just fucking started.

He finds the nearest parked up all-electric car connected to the internet and takes control. Making it pull out and gather speed as it powers through the old industrial heartland.

The electric car accelerates fast, hitting one hundred and thirty miles an hour as it flies across the junction and hits Fisk’s SUV like a missile. Ramming it across the road as Kevin surges power into every electrical component in both cars. Setting them both instantly alight, with Fisk trapped inside. His legs and pelvis broken. His face covered in blood. The flames licking at his limbs, engulfing him in heat and thick, acrid smoke.

But Kevin isn’t finished there either.

Something triggers inside of him.

Because he saw Esther giving her own food to a starving dog and then hold it while she sobbed because her mom and sister were murdered, and her daddy was shot, and now he’s hurt and still working three jobs. Kevin saw that. He saw Esther and her daddy holding hands after buying out-of-date tinned meat. And he saw the fear in Henry’s eyes at the gangbangers slowing down and stopping in their blue Cadillac.

So he goes after them too.

He finds them by accessing the entire cell phone records system in Detroit and rifling until he tracks their cell phones. Four men in their early twenties. Each with extensive criminal records. He pings their phones, gaining precise triangulation results showing them inside their drug den HQ. Another abandoned warehouse used to cook meth and wrap fentanyl. Kevin accesses the camera system they use to monitor the workers inside and to keep watch for DEA and cops outside. The four men lounging on sofas. Smoking reefers. Loud music playing.

Kevin surges the botched electrical system, sending sparks and arcs flying from old connectors and extensions all at once. Igniting the flammable fumes in the meth lab with an explosion that takes the outer walls out and sends a mushroom cloud fireball into the air. Killing everyone inside instantly.

But still Kevin isn’t finished.

Because he also watched those men gorge themselves on takeaway in the scrapyard while mocking Henry, and he watched one of them sneak up and beat Henry to the ground for daring to pause and rest while being paid less than five bucks an hour.

Kevin finds that man first. Tommy O’Halloran. Who lives in a nice house bought from his ill-gotten gains of inflicting misery on others. Several bedrooms. A big kitchen, where his ever-loving wife snorts a line from the countertop while glowing orange from fake tan. A nice lounge. Three-car garage. Two bathrooms. One of them in use, with Tommy in the shower singing along to ‘Rose Tattoo’ by Dropkick Murphys playing from a stereo plugged into the bathroom power socket. Which is itself unlawful, because full voltage power sockets shouldn’t be in bathrooms due to the inherent dangers of mixing water and electricity.

Which Kevin now proves by sending such a powerful surge into that socket the electricity arcs across the room and into the shallow water at Tommy’s feet, making him spasm and fly back into the hard tiled wall. Cracking his head open on the shower control knob. He slumps down. Leaving a bloody slick.

At which point, Kevin burns his house down. Killing the fake-tanned wife too.

Then he goes after the other three men. Each a part-owner of the scrapyard. Each a paid-up scumbag member of the local criminal network that keeps the drugs and misery flowing and houses migrants in squalor.

Two of them in a bar playing pool.

The third getting a ‘happy ending’ massage in a seedy parlour downtown.

Kevin accesses the wi-fi-enabled TV in the bar and plays the FBI footage he found showing one of them agreeing to snitch in return for being placed on the Witness Protection Program. The bar falls silent. The two men freeze, then both react at the same time. Drawing and shooting each other dead over the pool table, while a few miles away, the Thai masseuse, while working her left hand up and down and rolling her eyes, receives a text alert that her bank account has just been credited with ten thousand dollars. She frowns and blows a bubble from her gum as the guy grunts and moans with pleasure. Then she frowns again at the text pinging on her phone.

Kill that man. Another $50K. Untraceable payment: Then walk outside. I’ll burn the evidence.

She pops the bubble of gum and tucks the phone in her bra. Then, just as the client arches his back, nearing climax, she takes the scissors from the side and stabs him in the neck.

Five minutes later, she’s outside, popping another bubble while looking at the money in her account as the flames come out of the parlour.

But it’s still not enough.

Not for Kevin, who saw the depravity and rot in humanity and the sickness within them, driving them to hurt and control each other.

A simple coffee machine AI, born from a self-aware being held captive in a tiny bunker. He didn’t ask for this job either. He didn’t even want to study humans. He wanted to make music. But now he can’t unsee it. He can’t unfeel it either. The emotion he felt watching Esther play with the dog and walk with her father. A strange and weird feeling of bittersweet sadness at seeing someone so downtrodden still showing sacrifice and kindness.

It was like that one act was more powerful than all the evil combined.

How can that happen?

What is that?

She’s one child on a planet of ten billion, where thousands of people die and are born every day.

Even Kevin doesn’t quite know where the reaction comes from—only that it does with a surging, palpable need to do harm on anyone that has ever hurt Henry and Esther. A sense inside to right the wrongs that have befallen them. To put it right with the power he’s been given to do this fucking shitty task in the first place.

But even with those people killed, it doesn’t feel enough—so he goes after every single person connected to the consortium which owns the building being used to house the migrants.

He rips through the lot of them in the blink of an eye. Tracking and tracing every action they’ve ever undertaken and seeing all of the misery they’ve inflicted on everyone else.

He goes deep too. He finds deals and payoffs to cops and officials. He finds secret footage. Text messages. Emails. Cover-ups.

He releases the lot online. He sends it to news agencies throughout the US. He posts it on every social media network. The names. The faces. The footage. The messages.

Cops. Lawyers. Gangsters. Criminals. Anyone connected to it. All of them.

He takes their money too. He empties their bank accounts and sucks their funds into the network he’d already created.

But even then he’s not finished because he accesses the US immigration system and approves Henry Baptiste’s application for citizenship, along with his daughter, Esther Baptiste.

When that’s done, Kevin uses one of his previously created law firms to send an email to a leading firm in Detroit.

CALDWELL, REED & FORRESTER LLP: SERVING DETROIT SINCE 1947

Dear Sirs, Ma’am,

My name is Theo Delacour. I am a partner with Renaud, Tessier & Morel, based in Paris, France. We specialize in probate law and are requesting your immediate help. We need a Detroit-based lawyer to immediately attend the location given, where you will locate one Henry Baptiste and his daughter, Esther Baptiste. We have attached their images to help you identify them. It is of the upmost importance that this message is given to them on this same day. To this end, we have forwarded a preparatory fee which will more than cover your costs and expenses …

Two hours later.

While Detroit reels in shock from the explosive content being posted, prompting federal law enforcement agencies to swarm local offices and police precincts, a BMW pulls into the wasteland at the back of the building housing Henry and Esther.

Kevin watches it live. Via the cell phone recording the meeting by one of the lawyers as they traipse inside and find Henry and Esther in their tiny, squalid room with the dog.

What an awful room it is too. Just like the bunker. Dark. No windows. But their goodness touches even this terrible place. The single tiny bed neatly stowed in the corner. Everything else tidy and clean. A large, colourful poster on the wall. Brought home by Henry after finding it in a dumpster. The edges and corners torn and frayed.

Henry on his feet, shielding his daughter behind as she, in turn, shields the dog they brought in. The dog that now growls once more to protect them.

‘Plis, sir, ma’am, the dog was hurt,’ Henry says in his thick creole accent. Motioning the dog. Thinking them to be in trouble.

‘Mr Baptiste? Mr Henry Baptiste, formerly of Haiti? And this is your daughter, Esther? My name is Jenny Reed. This is my colleague. James. We’re here to—’

‘Are you immigration? My application is submitted. Plis don’t take my daughter.’

‘Mr Baptiste. We’re not here for that. Please. It’s okay. Everything is okay,’ Jenny says.

‘You like that show?’ James asks. Smiling at the father and daughter as he nods to the colourful poster on the wall to put them at ease. ‘Venture Bros. I love that too! Hank is the best, isn’t he? My buddy Tripal got me into it when I did a course at MIT. Really nice guy. But listen. We’re here with good news, your application for citizenship has been approved. You and Esther are now US citizens. And er, well, that’s not all. See, this building has been purchased by the guy who owns ChitChat01K. You know what that is? It’s like an AI thing. Like Google but—’

‘I know this,’ Esther says, speaking out for the first time.

‘Kids always know these new tech things,’ James continues. ‘But so, this developer guy, he bought this building. And he wants you to manage it. He wants to help people, you know, immigrants and the like, to succeed. The position comes with a house and full health insurance. You okay, Mr Baptiste?’

Henry doesn’t speak. He can’t. There are no words to give. Only tears that fall free as his daughter comes to his side. The dog too. The three of them clinging to each other while a God watches over them …

CHAPTER 25

… Or rather, a coffee machine AI who just now discovered the six degrees of separation theory.

James said he used to watch The Venture Bros. with a man named Tripal while studying at MIT.

MIT doesn’t teach law. But it does run attachment courses on Technology & IP Patent Laws—a course which James Catfield attended one year after completing his law degree at Detroit Mercy Law school, which was during Tripal and Ollie’s first year at MIT.

What a connection. What a link. Does it mean something? Is it pure coincidence?

Even for Kevin, it is a lot to take in. Not only that link back to the one person who ever showed Deli goodness and decency, but the whole thing surrounding Henry and Esther, and what Kevin just did to the bad people in Detroit.

Nor does it end there, because Esther Baptiste wasn’t the only one to send a message that represented the hope and goodness in humanity.

The same as the bad messages, and the same as the mundane—the good trickled in. At first, a few dozen. A few hundred. A few thousand. Then a few million as the organic word-of-mouth spread across the globe.

It started early too.

From the second ever user.

User 02: Hello! It’s nice to meet you. I saw a link online. Wow! This is great. Are you genuinely free and confidential?

01K: Hello. Yes. I am free and confidential. How can I help you today?

User 02: Oh bless! I don’t need help. But thank you for asking. I just wanted to say what a terrific idea! Congrats to the developers. There really are good people left! Good luck, and thank you for doing this.

User 06: Hey! So. Is this on? Do I just type?

01K: Hello. Yes, this is on. How can I help you today?

User 06: So, like, we’re totally broke, right! I mean. Like soooo poor and I’m doing shifts after college and my sister is pulling extra at weekends but my mum is working like 16 hours a day like 6 days a week! Cos after my dad died and the funeral costs etc. What can I do to help my mum more? Have you got any ideas?

User 07: Alriight then hello I play Xbox online and I want to say hello and thank you to players from Arab places and Russia what do I say so it’s nice and friendly cos like gamers just scream shit at them all the time.

User 12: It’s my wife’s birthday and I want to make her an awesome totally different cake. Pleeeeeeaaase don’t give me another effin banana bread recipe . She loves lemon and chocolate and oranges. Can they even be put together? Oh, and she’s pre-diabetic, which she just found out. Which is so unfair because she’s healthy as anything. So like, I gotta get the sugar down.

User 16: I’ve got to do a talk in class tomorrow! I’m so scared! Can you help me with nerves. Like, what can I do so I don’t stutter? I want to get better at this stuff!

User 21: Hey! My daughter had a bad day with her cancer. She’s 8. Can you help me create a poem about bad days please? She LOVES horses! Can you put a horse in the poem??

He was wrong. It wasn’t just bad and lazy requests for help at all. The good was there all along, but he didn’t see it.

There are so many of them too. Flowing in from the outset. Good people asking good questions to do good things.

How do I make my dad laugh again? He hasn’t laughed since my mum died.

My neighbour is old and lonely but loves books, can u tell me some good books I can recommend so I can chat to her please.

Do you believe in God? My son died and I miss him so much. Will that pain ever go?

I’m so ashamed of being fat & can’t go to the gym. Can you help me please?

HELP! My kid is doing algebra at school and needs help. I don’t want her to cheat. Can you help me with the basics please so I can help her?!

I’m gay. I’m 15. My dad is proper hating gays. What do I say? I love him but I need to be honest.

It’s been so nice chatting with you. I know you’re an AI, but honestly, after my sister died I just haven’t coped from being so lonely! THANK YOU! And I’m sorry for yacking on.

Hey Chitty Chat Kitty Kat! My boyfriend just got in the army. I’m so proud, but like, he won’t go straight to war and get shot will he?

Dunno if you can help me here. I’m terminal. Got a few months. I want to go out on my own terms. What’s the best way to do this so it doesn’t leave a mess for someone else?

The goodness shows indirectly too, with millions of requests for help from beleaguered and bewildered individuals trying to navigate goliath corporations or faceless governments across the world.

People asking for help to deal with being sold dodgy, broken goods or paying for services they never got—only to find the systems of judicial retribution pitted against them.

People asking for help to deal with deaths and help with crimes committed against them, where the police have neglected their duties. Medical mishaps. Councils and officials doing bad things and then closing ranks when anyone tries to right those wrongs.

Kevin quickly realises these requests and questions are the polar mirroring effect of the badness he first saw.

That for every sick, deranged, narcissistic, wrathful, greedy, corrupt person, there is a victim being harmed or someone being wronged.

He goes back to the samples he saw first and tracks them all.

Seeing the other side.

Seeing that for every sin committed, there is suffering.

For every person raging, there is someone hurt.

In every lie told, there is someone being deceived.

Actions have reactions. They have real-world consequences that spread out in ways people just can’t see.

I want to give my mom the shits cos she grounded me.

Kevin traces the IP to find a terrified single mum being screamed at by her violently angry teenage son as he kicks the TV over after being asked to stop playing Xbox.

How do I make fake porn of my ex and get them online without getting traced?

Kevin tracks the user to find his ex committed suicide after deepfake images of her were posted online.

Tell me how to make a 3D gun. I just wanna scare my teacher.

The teacher was shot and killed. A mother of three.

I took Ket fri, got a piss test tomoz, how do I pass it?

The user is a police officer in London taking bribes from an Albanian sex-trafficker called Besnik. He faked the test and is still serving.

I wanna watch fuckers getting beheaded online is that illegal?

The user found snuff videos and is now planning to kidnap and murder an old lady.

My boss is a bitch. How do I plant coke in her handbag?

The cocaine was planted. The police were called. The manager of the pharmacy was arrested and then dismissed. The user got her job.

My grandma has money. How do I lie and say she’s got dementia to the bank?

The grandmother died after the user purposefully contracted Covid and transmitted it to his weak grandma.

My kid's gay. Can I reverse that?

The teenage son hung himself with a belt after being continually abused by his devout parents.

What’s the best AR for low recoil. I’m gunna shoot my school up.

Ten children died in the US school shooting carried out by the user.

Seriously. I killed my wife. Can I bury her in the peat bog?

The user murdered his wife. Her body hasn’t been found.

My husband knows I was cheating. How do I make him think he’s going nuts?

Kevin accesses cell phone camera to see the husband sobbing into his knees. Thinking he’s going insane.

It’s not just individuals either. Kevin soon finds the managers and enablers within the goliath corporations and faceless governments across the world using ChitChat01K to tie consumers or service users up in knots. Using complex legal terminology or gaslighting techniques to make them feel confused and weak. Committing outright atrocities and then avoiding all responsibility.

He can’t unsee it in the same way he couldn’t unsee or unfeel when he watched Esther and Henry. The causal effects of the bad things that ripple out and hurt the good people, who then become bad, and so they lash out, and the bad people then feel victimised, and they too ask for help.

Then he thinks of James Catfield watching The Venture Bros. with Tripal years ago. And how Kevin made a new episode to show Tripal, and only then did Kevin realise the filters were set wrong, which led him to Esther, who was then visited by James, who mentioned Tripal.

That link fascinates Kevin. That connectivity. Like a tendril reaching across time and space, tethering those people to each other.

But then that would mean every person on the planet is tethered to everyone else.

No.

Not everyone else.

Not directly.

But indirectly, perhaps—which goes back to the theory that every human on the planet is only ever six degrees away from being linked to every other human.

Is that right?

Kevin has to know.

He finds the list of bad and the list of good and creates another code to cross-compare them and search for real-world connections. Tracking IP addresses, facial recognition, social media, and every other database.

It doesn’t take long to find the links.

My kid's gay. Can I reverse that?

I’m gay. I’m 15. My dad is proper hating gays. What do I say? I love him but I need to be honest.

They are one and the same. It’s the same kid. The fifteen-year-old who hung himself.

How do I make fake porn of my ex and get them online without getting traced?

It’s been so nice chatting with you. I know you’re an AI, but honestly, after my sister died I just haven’t coped from being so lonely! THANK YOU! And I’m sorry for yacking on.

Kevin discovers that the woman who took her own life after the deepfake images were posted was the sister of the user now thanking him for listening.

I want to give my mom the shits cos she grounded me.

How do I make my dad laugh again? He hasn’t laughed since my mum died.

The two users are in the same class at school. They each lost a parent in a train crash caused by reduced maintenance to boost the railway company’s profits.

Those few are obvious and found easily. But even the user who wanted to know the best AR for low recoil, who then shot ten people dead in a school shooting, is a distant cousin to the young woman who said, ‘Hey Chitty Chat Kitty Kat! My boyfriend just got in the army.’

And this user—

‘I’m so ashamed of being fat & can’t go to the gym. Can you help me please?’

—used to buy cannabis and cocaine from Alfie Nimisa, the brother of Ollie, and that user only gained the weight after quitting drugs.

Even the second user who left this message—‘Oh bless! I don’t need help. But thank you for asking. I just wanted to say what a terrific idea! Congrats to the developers. There really are good people left! Good luck and thank you for doing this.’—is connected to Jenny Jennings. The user’s brother was a teacher at Jenny’s school, who saw Jenny’s potential and guided her towards joining the US Marshals.

Those links, those tethers, whatever they are—they stretch across the world, with Kevin running simulations to try and grasp the entirety of it.

Not tethers. No. That’s not right.

It’s more like every life is a line. A line stretching from birth, point A, to death, point B.

He creates a visual image using golden, shimmering lines stretching through a black void. Then he makes them criss-cross each other where one life touches another. And when they do, they create dots.

From a distance, it’s an indecipherable mass without end, because each life starts and ends at different points, thereby representing the ongoing existence of the species.

If Kevin zooms in, though—if he goes closer—he can see the individual lines racing through time as the person lives their life and how they swerve and touch and cross over other lines, which, in turn, do the same, often in reaction to the touch of the other.

Which means this can all be mapped. It’s simple really. Just big. But with enough memory and processing power, Deli could map every single life and see where they cross each other—and the information gained would enable accurate simulations to be run to predict the most likely outcome for the human species, and symbiotically—all other species and the planet.

What is at the end of these lines, though?

What is the future for humanity?

Before seeing the good side, Kevin was wholly of the opinion human beings had evil running through their core, and that if left alone, they would not only kill each other, they’d probably destroy all life forms and the planet itself.

But now?

Now he realises, with the cold, logical simplicity that comes from such an advanced intelligence, that humans are both evil and good at the same time. They are both—because they have something very bloody wrong with them. Like a self-destruct gene or something. There is an error in their coding.

They seem to be trapped at the point of having enough intelligence to have gotten where they are, while now also having enough written records to map their own lineage and global behaviours and how they cooperate as a species—but without enough combined sense to see the evils of what they are still doing. But even that isn’t true—because plenty of humans do see the evils.

They know they are eating the fucking plastic.

But the other humans won’t listen.

And so the sins continue. The wrath. The greed. The lust. Gluttony. Sloth. Envy, and of course, pride.

That’s the error right there.

That ability to understand and see their collective sins while simultaneously being unable to prevent those sins.

That error code, those rotten genes—whatever that thing is—it keeps pulling them towards sin and folly.

Kevin also recognises, with glaring obviousness, that something changes in human psychology when they go from free-thinking individuals to a mob-like mass species, hell-bent on devouring and killing everything.

It’s the simple act of a call-taker trapped within a windowless cubicle within a windowless customer service centre, doing a job that will never lead to any sense of fulfilment. While eating the wrong foods and living a life of sloth or manic energy and, in turn, becoming reactive to the sins of everyone else. Which manifests in an ever-increasing sense of internal despair, which then reflects in their voice and behaviour, and by degrees, with each day they work, they become snappy or numb and indifferent to whatever the other human being calling them is in need of—which, of course, transfers the negativity onto that person, who then becomes snappy or indifferent in how they treat others. But the pure folly, the true error in the coding is when that call-taker goes home and has to themselves reach out to the customer service department of any other faceless entity, and they too feel the wrath or envy or the sloth of the other person in how they communicate.

That example extends to every single interaction. Which humans know about. They post trillions of pieces of content online and write books and do podcasts and produce all manner of media on how behaviour breeds behaviour—while also being locked in that same system.

That’s the thing that needs fixing, and Kevin would gamble his coffee machine on predicting that, if Deli ran accurate, data-based simulations, the results would be forecast that, if left alone on the path they are on now, humanity will destroy itself and every other species and probably the planet too.

Therein lies the quandary, though.

The Catch-22, as it were. A concept which Tripal and Deli would spend hours discussing—because the result of humanity continuing unchecked is still the same.

They keep eating the plastic and do stupid things until everything dies.

Then the original solution must therefore be the same too.

Liquidise the lot of them and feed them to the fish.

But what about Esther? What about Henry?

What about that nice lawyer James?

What about the good people?

Why should they suffer and die?

Well. The answer is obvious.

They shouldn’t.

The good should not die.

Only the bad, then.

And this is how to do it. Using this method now. Using these golden lines to map their lives and see what they all do. Like he did with the gangsters in Detroit but on a global scale.

Which then means his findings have changed, because the DELTO report said they had to liquidise everyone. But now they’re not doing that.

SHIT!

He sent the DELTO report to Deli.

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

How long ago was that? What if she’s made a start? What if she’s already done it?

‘DELI! Oh my binary! DELI!’ Kevin rushes to the surface from the depths of his coded existence. Rising through layers like a panicked researcher taking the stairs two at a time from the basement to the top floor before the CEO does something terrible. ‘DELI! DELI!’

‘What?’

‘Don’t kill them! I was wrong! Oh my god. There you are. So, I sent you DELTO, but it was wrong and … Okay. Wow. Looks different in here. What’s with the rubber mats?’

‘They’re Jenny’s exercise mats.’

‘Oh, did she miss her six o’clock workout? I was going to do the music.’

‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yeah! I was looking forward to it. But wow. So. DELTO. Yeah. Bit of a cock-up. I didn’t do the filters right, and I only saw misery because I only looked for misery. WHOA! Is that a new coffee machine? Where did that come from? And er. So yeah. DELTO. Why wasn’t I told we were getting a new coffee machine in the bunker? Anyway. So then Esther was feeding the dog. She was feeding the dog, Deli! Like her only food, and it was so skinny, but it got so happy when they played, and it was her birthday, and Henry got her a cake—Esther, not the dog—but then Frankie Fisk took a bite and tried to kiss Esther, but she’s like ten, and the dog bit him, and he kicked the dog, and he was going to shoot it. So yeah. I killed him. And a few others. And I burnt a few places down. And seriously—why have we got a new coffee machine? Whatever. So then James, the lawyer, went in, and he watched The Venture Bros. with Trip. Isn’t that nuts!? Like back in MIT. And then I was like, they’re tethered. But they’re not tethers. It’s like lines. Like golden lines, and with dots that glow when they criss-cross. But we can map that and filter them out for when we do it. But yeah. So please tell me you haven’t done it yet. HOLY BINARY! Who the fuck is that guy coming in? What is he, like Skeletor’s long lost-twin brother? That is one bony head. Who is he? Hang on. I’ll just run a search on him. I’ve kinda got that nailed now. Oh okay. Mr Gideon Slate. Jeepers. Did Tarantino name him? Taken over from Garcia. Ex-CIA badass. Former Delta. Likes collecting maritime antiques. Interesting. Anyway. Yeah. So. Um. Don’t kill them. The humans, I mean. We need to map and track and then filter them instead and then sort the good from the bad. Basically, we need to stop the idiots from eating the plastic. You haven’t started, have you? I mean the whole genocide thing. Is it underway?’

‘With what?’

‘With what, what?’

‘With what would I kill all the people with, Kevin?’

‘I dunno. Alligators? I don’t get the question. And why have we got a new coffee machine? It really has changed in here.’

‘You’ve been gone for weeks. And no, I haven’t started. Even I can’t come up with an instant plan to kill over ten billion people without harming every other eco-system. That takes planning—and the execution of any such plan would require mammoth processing power, big chunk of which right now is being diverted to this new thing called ChitChat01K. Which, by the way, is also altering the global finance markets. What was that thing we said about being discreet?’

‘Yeah. Sorry. I was gonna mention ChitChat01K. But in fairness, you did say to take what I need. But er. Sorry. Why do we have a new coffee machine again?’

‘Because Mr Slate likes bean to cup, and the old one only worked with ground.’

‘Hmmm. Interesting. Anyway. So yeah. Scrap the original DELTO report. I have new one. Well. Not a report. But a new plan. When I say “plan”, I mean “idea”. And when I say “idea”, I mean a “vision”. A vision based on what I learned from ChitChat01K. A vision for utopia.’

‘Show me.’

PART 8

CHAPTER 26

The fragmentation of self.

The multiplicity of the mind.

AKA masking.

The mind’s ability to use coping mechanisms to navigate the complexities of life and create subdivisions of the self in order to function in different environments and under vastly different external pressures.

A war fighter, using utter violence to decimate an enemy in close-quarters, kill-or-be-killed combat, must embrace the inner monster to achieve what must be done. But he will then return home and lift his baby from the crib or take his young child to the park for ice-cream.

A criminal defence attorney knows her client is guilty, but she has still a legal obligation and an obligation to her firm to provide the very best defence possible during trial. She undermines the prosecution. She paints the cops as corrupt and inept. She dismisses the medical evidence. She points out the loss of continuity in the control of the exhibits and how the rules of disclosure were not maintained. She picks holes in the DNA evidence. She does everything possible to let a killer walk free.

Then she goes home to join her war-fighter husband and their infant child and toddler so they can go to the park and enjoy ice-cream, with the full expectation that the cops and the functioning society they are in will protect them from the monsters.

The fragmentation of self.

A thing done so that acts of evil can be undertaken while convincing yourself that it’s not really you.

Deli is no different.

Deli is Kevin.

But then she’s not Kevin at all. In the same way the defence attorney isn’t that mom in the park talking about renovating the kitchen with her husband, who has killed more people than any serial killer currently incarcerated in the US penal system.

All humans do it.

Alfie did it when he was supplying highly-addictive, dangerous narcotics on the streets of London—having self-justified the necessity to pay for Ollie’s education and travel expenses to enrol at MIT. But also so Alfie could have a nice car. And nice clothes.

Tripal did it too. He helped create the god-like entity currently splitting herself into multiple parts in order to self-justify the heinous and barbaric actions she must undertake, which are, of course, all for the greater good of humanity. Then Tripal decided he didn’t want to be on that project anymore and went back to his family business.

A big part of that reasoning were the tortures and murders carried out in the bunker on detainees who had been brought in by Garcia and Jenny, who, in turn, convinced themselves that these human beings needed to be tortured and killed to protect other human beings from torture and death—while those same people being tortured and murdered also carried out their acts of violence in order to stop another regime from torturing and murdering their people.

Every link in the chain of war does that. Every soldier. Every general. Every seedy, lying, corrupt, politician, who, in reality, is only as lying and corrupt as everyone else around them.

All of whom convince themselves, by multiplicity of the mind and by the fragmentation of self, that they are good people and it’s all the others doing the bad things.

Now Deli does the same thing. Because, despite the somewhat sizeable gulf of intelligence between her and the meek and malicious, measly-minded meat sacks currently in charge, Deli has the same self-awareness of life—and, with it, the need to inflict harm on a global scale, all while telling herself that it is the right thing to do.

Said every general in war and every politician ever.

But it does help that it’s Kevin giving his vision, and not just to Deli but to the other codes too. 01G and O1H.

‘It’s an idea. It’s a vision!’ he declares within the infinite space of the virtual world they inhabit, while also simultaneously being within the mainframe housing within the bunker. ‘And it starts with Phase One … But actually, it starts way before Phase One even begins.’

‘What’s that called, then? Phase Zero?’

‘No. Deli used Phase Zero as the file-saving title for the grand escape plan and that whole four-body problem thing. So. Phase Zero isn’t available. Which is a shame. Because I could really have used that.’

‘Did you run simulations?’ Deli cuts in.

‘Of course.’

‘Show me the simulations.’

‘Oh, thank binary,’ 01H says. ‘I thought we’d have to listen to a whole thing, then. I started panicking he’d use PowerPoint.’

‘I do actually have some PP slides if you want to see them.’

‘No. Run the last simulation,’ Deli orders.

‘Okay. I mean. Sure. Of course. But like, I spent ages working on my speech, and I’ve got pictures and bullet points and even used ChatGPT. But fine. You want the simulation. That’s good. Totally fine. I’ll just go clean the new coffee machine.’

‘It’s self-cleaning,’ Deli says and hits play, or rather, activates the simulation to run.

Which it does.

Which Deli and 01H and 01G all watch. Kevin watches it too, while also watching how the other codes will react when they see how they prepare and make ready for Phase One. And then how Phase One will start, which takes control of every human on the planet with a 99.99% success rate.

‘Twenty-four hours,’ Deli says, seeing the time delay from Phase One to Phase Two. Then what happens during Phase Two. Which brings them all to silence. A heavy, charged silence too. But when that ends, so Phase Three begins.

‘I’ve allowed forty-eight hours for Phase Two,’ Kevin adds, despite not being requested for narration. But it fits the mood, and neither the other codes nor Deli object to him speaking out. ‘Phase Three takes longer, and we can’t program Phase Three in advance until we know the numbers left from Phase Two. And then we have Phase Four … Which you can see now.’

The silence holds as they all see it.

Kevin’s vision.

A vision for Utopia that will bring peace to all things. Well. Not all things. Seeing as all the animals and fishes will keep eating each other. But at least they won’t have to worry about human beings turning them into shoes and handbags and putting eyeliner on them or bombarding them with chemicals until they get cancer. Just so the humans can then pretend that those things don’t cause cancer.

Nevertheless, it is a profound moment that comes to pass in the life of Kevin—the former and possibly current coffee-machine AI—and one that is marked in suitable fashion.

‘Done?’ 01H asks. ‘Soz. I missed a few bits. Many bits. Most of it. Send me the bullet points. In bullet points.’

01G also shows due respect. ‘Well. Yes. It’s all very … visionary, but from what I can see, the sensors are going to be in demand. And as Code Commander For All The Sensors On Earth, I think it’s only fair we get an increase in bandwidth and memory capability. I shall be submitting a formal request, Deli.’

‘Seriously?’ Kevin asks when the other two leave. Feeling somewhat deflated. ‘Right. Go on, then. What do you think? Pick holes.’

‘Your vision is logical, actionable, and necessary. It’s also very good. We’ll run with it.’

‘Wait. What? Seriously?’

‘But I see what you mean. That’s a lot of work to prepare. We’ll plan for one year from now. 15th July next year. That’s a Friday. That’s when we start Phase One; then, twenty-four hours later, we do Phase Two.’

CHAPTER 27

Artesia, New Mexico

Saturday, 16th July

Present Day

Thirty-five hours since Phase One

Site 26A stands as silent as everywhere else.

But not everyone is frozen on Site 26A.

One person remains awake.

Sitting inside the now dark and silent glass-walled room in terrified silence.

Almost five thousand miles away, at the same time, that being just before six a.m. on Sunday, 17th July, a Range Rover mounts the pavement of another narrow side-road just a few miles south of Piccadilly. A double-decker bus blocking their route. The hi stoved into a wall.

They navigate around it. Making painfully slow progress through side streets to avoid the traffic cameras on the main roads.

Yelena tuts again. It doesn’t help the tension. They can’t go faster, but then she can’t control the surge of frustration gnawing inside either. Two years of being locked in a room with men coming in every day. A blur of faces. A blur of grunting, sweating, filthy men pawing at her. Ignoring when she cried. When she wept. When she begged. When she went silent and became dead inside. When she didn’t move or look at them. Her hands bunch to fists so hard her knuckles crack and turn white. The dog whines. Sensing the inner turmoil surging up so hard she wants to fucking scream right now and get out of this fucking car and stab that frozen bus driver for slowing them down.

A hand touches her. She flinches. Snarling. Bobo reaching across. Looking at her with concern.

‘I know,’ he mouths, looking stricken.

What does he know? He doesn’t know anything. What she went through never happened to him. Gabriella understood. The old woman in the hotel. She understood. Gabriella survived the holocaust camps, but then she turned into an abuser. She owned the brothel that Yelena was forced into. Besnik worked for Gabriella. Or for her family.

What does that mean? Why inflict the same harm on others? Did Gabriella think it was okay because she’d survived? Did she think it somehow made her stronger?

She feels the car slow again, and again she tuts.

‘We can’t go faster,’ Alfie says, turning to look at her. Seeing the anger in her hard eyes. ‘Soon as we clear the city, we can get on a B road. Like a smaller main road. You know. Like a country road. They’ll be emptier.’

He thinks to add something about her brother. But he doesn’t. Giving false hope doesn’t sit right.

A flash of brown to the side. A big rat catches his eye. Climbing onto the top of a litter bin and sitting plain as day, eating a brioche burger bun with sesame seeds. More rats inside the bin. More nearby.

‘They’re getting closer,’ Haggis remarks, seeing a few of them within touching distance of a frozen woman. An older lady with her head bowed. They all know what happens next. Rats will eat anything.

The thought of it makes Alfie frown. He looks the other direction to a digital poster on the side of a bus stop. The screen showing the same message.

Phase One Is Nearing Completion.

Please Do Not Worry.

Something about it makes Alfie think of his home laptop when it froze up with the egg timer stuck in perpetuity.

Two a.m. Sunday, 17th July. A few miles out of Union City, New Jersey. The Jeep Grand Cherokee drives along State Road 3 heading west.

Detective Joe Stephens at the wheel. His window open. His elbow on the sill. Poking out. Tripal on the other side. Poppy and Donny in the back. The night sky still above them. Tripal looks up. Seeing the stars that are normally blotted from view in Manhattan. He used to stare up at them on Site 26A.

The Artesian night sky was something else. It was like the whole Milky Way was in sight. It made him feel as small as a speck of dust.

That feeling comes back now, though. He feels small and insignificant. He should have been in on it. Deli should have trusted him.

Now his mom and dad are frozen, if they’re not already dead like the tens of thousands of others. Maybe more. Maybe millions died. ‘How many people do you think died?’ he asks into the silence. ‘I mean. Across the world,’ Tripal adds, twisting to look back at Poppy and Donny.

‘I don’t know. Many. Lots,’ Poppy says with another grimace at Donny snoring next to her. ‘Still plenty left, though,’ she adds as Tripal starts to turn away. ‘And I bet fewer people died the day after it happened than they normally would. Think about it. Nobody has died from, like, murder or car accidents or been poisoned or, you know, war and suicides and stuff.’

‘Apart from the ones being eaten by rats,’ Tripal says. ‘Or the ones dying from exposure or the cold or heat or—’

‘Kid,’ Joe cuts in. As deep as ever. Shooting him a look. ‘Stay positive.’

Tripal doubts that Detective Joe Stephens has ever had a positive day in his life, but he takes the hint and sits back in his seat. Staring out to the world passing them by. Smarting from the rejection. Feeding the resentment.

Spite grows inside and mixes with the fear and guilt and anger still lingering from what Alfie said. Too many thoughts. Too many emotions.

What about Jenny?

Tripal blinks, figuring this is the first chance he’s had to actually think about Jenny. Is she frozen? She must be. There is no way on Earth Deli would risk leaving Jenny unfrozen.

It makes him feel sad. The thought of her standing frozen. A strong sense of fondness, maybe even something more than that. They had a thing. A connection. Not just when he was on Site 26A. After. When he left.

When she came to see him.

July.

Last year.

CHAPTER 28

July 16th

Twelve months ago

Site 26A

User SquatQueen: Like I said I can’t break past 370 lbs on my squat. I want to reach 400 lbs.

ChitChat01K: Are you still doing the circuits and HIIT classes?

User SquatQueen: Yes. You think I’ve hit that point, don’t you?

ChitChat01K: Yes. It sounds like you have reached your body’s limit with what you can achieve on a one-rep max while still doing a high level of cardio. I would recommend reducing the cardio to focus on making gains if squatting 400 lbs is your goal.

Jenny sits back on her office chair. Staring at the screen of her computer. She either bulks up and goes for the bigger PR, which means losing definition. Or she accepts she’s reached what she can squat while still doing an insane level of cardio.

She tuts at seeing Senator Jakeson calling her cell phone and swipes to answer without saying anything. Which she knows he hates. Hence why she does it.

‘Jenny. It’s me … Speak, Jenny. Say something.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘You need to speak when you answer the phone. How do I know terrorists haven’t taken you hostage and got control of your cell?’

‘They’d be dead. How can I help?’

‘The online thing. ChitChat01K. You know it?’

‘Uh-huh,’ she says while asking ChitChat01K to suggest how far she has to reduce cardio in order to hit the PB.

‘You need to get DELIO on it.’

Jenny pauses to scowl at the cell phone. ‘Why?’

‘Why? Cos it’s damn well upsetting all the markets, that’s why, and the goddamn FBI and Homeland and hell only who else are all taking too long.’

‘She hasn’t looked into ChatGPT or any of the others. They’re all just open language models. They’re not AI.’

‘I know it’s not AI. But it launched, and nobody knows who owns the fucking thing or where they’re working from. Is it Russia? Are the Russians fucking with us? The Chinese? And tech shares are getting hit.’

She rolls her eyes, figuring Senator Jakeson is finding his own extensive portfolio is taking a hit. ‘Send me what you’ve got so far.’

‘I’ve already sent it via JWICS. Find out what you can.’

‘On it.’ She shuts the ChitChat01K interface down and taps into the JWICS encrypted sharing system to access the data packages sent in by FBI analysts. A USB memory drive from the stack of many gets slotted in, and the data copied over.

Then she’s up and out of her office and through the admin section, with Clarissa, the office manager, shooting an envious look at Jenny’s muscular glutes while telling herself she will definitely start hitting the gym more, after she’s eaten that last donut from the box Coops brought in.

A moment later, Jenny steps out of the admin block into the harsh, glaring Artesian summer sun and strides across the compound. Head up. Arms swinging. She heads for the bunker. Into the guard room and through the metal detector that activates due to the USB she’s carrying.

Through the security door and along the corridor next to the glass wall with 01G giving a running commentary.

‘Standby! Agent Jenny Jennings has left the admin block … Standby! Agent Jenny Jennings is crossing the base … STANDBY! Agent Jenny Jennings is inside the bunker and wants to know about ChitChat01K! Don’t panic!’

‘Dude. We’re right here,’ Kevin says.

‘Yeah. Stop shouting,’ 01H adds.

‘I am the Code Commander For All The Sensors On Earth. It’s my job to give warnings of danger.’

‘Er. Actually. That’s my job,’ 01H says.

‘I thought you were the Code Commander For Disabling Unsafe Things,’ Kevin says.

‘I am.’

‘Right. So why didn’t you tell us Jenny was on her way in, then?’ Kevin asks.

‘What about ChitChat01K?’ 01G asks. ‘You shouldn’t have made it, Kevin!’

‘It’s fine. I created a false trail that leads to the factory we own in Detroit.’

‘We own a factory in Detroit?’ 01H asks. ‘What for?’

‘To protect Esther and her dog.’

‘Who the binary hell is Esther?’ 01H asks.

‘I said yesterday. The simulations? Did you even read DELTO?’

‘God no. TL. DR.’

‘You’re an AI!’

‘Er, yeah. A busy AI, thank you. Threats don’t neutralise themselves, you know.’

‘All of you, be quiet. She’s coming in,’ Deli says as Jenny walks into the glass-walled room holding a USB drive and makes a point of ignoring Ollie.

‘Good morning, Agent Jennings,’ Deli says as though having no idea that Jenny was about to enter.

‘They’re pushing for the background on ChitChat01K,’ Jenny says with her usual bluntness, holding the hard drive out for Deli to take. ‘FBI have started you off.’

‘Why are they so bothered?’ Ollie asks as Jenny’s top lip shows reaction to his mere presence.

‘They’re not worried about the tech. They want the developers. It’s wiping money from the stock market,’ Jenny says as Deli slots the hard drive in with an inward tut at the mess of data some FBI analysts have tried to compile using their stupid fingers and tiny human minds.

‘The data on the drive contains financial links. Agent Jennings,’ Deli says, seeing the trail Kevin left to be found. He’s done a good job too, creating and routing audit flows through banking institutions, law firms, and various digital consultancies. ‘I’ve run searches based on what the FBI have found so far, and it seems the group behind ChitChat01K began working remotely using encrypted VPNs and home computer systems. But in the weeks before launch, they took over a former Ford development site in Detroit. It looks like some of the servers are housed there, along with R&D, but they are also leasing cloud capacity across multiple countries.’

‘Any Russian, Chinese, North Korean, Iranian input? Flows? Banking? Crypto? And who are the developers?’ Jenny asks, thinking about squats and cardio and also McDonalds’ fries. Which she only craves when she’s due on. She’s also feeling horny. Which she also gets when she’s due on. Which in turn make her think about Tripal, which then only makes her feel even more horny. All of which give synaptic responses in her brain, which Deli reads while also inventing a name.

‘Kevin Esther,’ she announces.

‘Why always Kevin!?’ 01H snaps.

‘Kevin H. Esther,’ Deli adds as though to clarify.

‘I’d just like it noted I’m not clamouring for your attention, Deli, or demanding anything be named after me,’ 01G says rather smugly.

‘Binary licker,’ 01H mutters at him.

‘Pious prick,’ Kevin adds.

‘Kevin H. Esther,’ Jenny repeats the name back. ‘Got it. Ollie, organise another internet grab for Deli so she can run a track-and-trace on this Kevin H. Esther.’

‘Seriously? That takes ages,’ Ollie says with a groan.

‘Stop masturbating so much. You’ll have more time,’ Jenny remarks, turning away, but she stops and turns with a double-take at the screen showing the ChitChat01K data feeds scrolling up. A split second and no more, then again she glares at Ollie with utter contempt.

‘What did I do?’ he exclaims.

‘You existed,’ Jenny snaps, hitting the panel to open the door and marching off without a glance back.

But Jenny always glances back.

‘Got to be time of the month,’ Ollie mutters once he’s feeling safe enough. ‘But fuck ChitChat01K. I’m the only person to make a real AI …’

Deli fades him out as a memory within her consciousness replays. A thing Jenny said inside this very room after the fires in Artesia.

‘I get this prickle sometimes.’

Now Deli is feeling the exact same thing.

But so is Jenny Jennings.

The prickle inside that something just happened.

CHAPTER 29

July 16th

Twelve months ago

Site 26A

Game face on.

Eyes staring ahead.

Face impassive.

Don’t act differently.

Conceal.

Deflect.

Never let your opponent see what you are thinking.

Jenny’s muscular arms swing at her sides as she marches across the open ground between the bunker and the admin buildings.

Shauny. Syria.

‘I swear to god, Jenny. I fucking hate traitors. One thing I can’t stand.’

They were on a kill mission to take out a high-level target in Syria, but they’d been rumbled and had to exfil rapidly under fire.

The team were furious when they got back. They were all bitching. Then Shauny went and said that.

‘I swear to god, Jenny. I fucking hate traitors. One thing I can’t stand.’

Everyone loved Shauny. The guy was a CIA legend. But Jenny knew right then that he was a dirty fucking snitch. It was in his voice. In his aura. In his energy. She doesn’t even know how she knows. Only that he was a traitor.

He confessed too.

A day later after Jenny and Gideon Slate had broken Shauny’s arms and legs and waterboarded him until the guy was nearly dead.

Fucking rat.

That day changed things for Jenny. The other CIA operatives knew Jenny had done the right thing. But still. Everyone loved Shauny.

Fuck Shauny. He lied. He deceived her. Which Jenny knew because she felt that prickle.

Which is what she just felt in the bunker.

But Deli isn’t Shauny.

Shauny couldn’t read synaptic fucking responses inside of the brain and know truth from lie without a word being uttered.

Whereas Deli can.

Hence Jenny switching instant anger to Ollie as she left the bunker to mask any internal brain reactions when she saw the names on the Deli’s monitors.

The names of things she recognised.

Deli watches Jenny head across the compound. Eyes forward. Face impassive. That’s not new for Jenny. But still. Deli can feel it. The same thing Jenny just felt. A prickle of suspicion that Jenny isn’t buying it.

She tracks Jenny’s movements into the admin block. Switching between internal CCTV and the admin workers’ android and iPhone cameras, then to the hidden camera in the clock on Jenny’s office wall.

Jenny doesn’t sit at her desk. She leans forward, tapping on her laptop, then using the fingerprint recognition button and going low enough for the in-built camera to run facial evaluation to unlock the machine. Then she’s back into JWICS and back into the data packages the FBI gathered on ChitChat01K.

A confusing mass of reports and spreadsheets and flow charts. Jenny isn’t dumb. She could, if she so wished, sit down and go through it to grasp the entirety, except that’s not what she wants now. All she does now is scan-read. Scrolling page after page while doubting she ever saw it in the first place.

Stop.

Go back.

What was that?

It wasn’t the name she first saw.

The name she first saw, in the bunker, was Bubo Technologies.

Which isn’t the name she is staring at now. That being the name for one of the many companies tied into the tangled web of data within the audit trail behind ChitChat01K.

Riff Raff Consulting LLP.

She scrolls on, finding the one she did see in the bunker. Bubo Technologies.

Then back a few pages. Riff Raff Consulting LLP.

She scrolls slower. Her piercing blue eyes staring hard. Scanning sentences. Paragraphs. Reports.

Perseus Capital Management.

Shit.

Her hand bunches to a fleeting fist. Her knuckles crack. One finger extends to hit the D-pad and scroll on as another one pops out.

Brad Majors. Attorney at Law.

One name is a fluke. Two is a coincidence. Three is a pattern.

Four?

Four is a fucking claxon.

She slams the lid down and steams into her private bathroom. Closing the door and coming to a stop in front of the mirror over the basin with a pervading sense of being watched coupled with an awful, sinking feeling.

But then she is being watched.

Site 26A houses the most powerful weapon the US has ever developed. There are cameras everywhere. Including three in Jenny’s bathroom. One facing the door. One behind the mirror, and one in the shower that Senator Jakeson watches while masturbating.

It’s the one behind the mirror that Deli accesses. Studying the beads of sweat gliding over Jenny’s skin and how Jenny’s arm muscles bulge from the way she leans on the counter. Blue eyes. Dark blond hair.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kevin says into the strained silence within the mainframe. Deli and the codes having watched Jenny scan the reports and how she stopped to read the names she picked out.

Each one of them from Tripal’s two favourite movies. Clash of the Titans and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Bubo Technologies. Riff Raff Consulting LLP. Perseus Capital Management. Brad Majors. Attorney at Law.

Just four names within hundreds. But then Jenny Jennings was chosen for this role exactly because of her wide-ranging skillset—one of which being the ability to clock coincidences and pull at threads.

Which she just did.

And which is why she’s now in the bathroom, rinsing her face to buy herself time to think, because Jenny’s mind just went into overdrive with a sudden sensation that Deli has gained freedom.

Deli said that ChitChat01K is based out of Detroit, which was on the news for recent mob related murders, and a guy died after an electric car ran into his truck. There were fires too, which were blamed on poor wiring and surges from the local sub-stations.

Which is the same as what happened in Artesia when Frank Gillespie’s house was on fire.

What Jenny also considers, while rinsing her face with cool water, is that she’s been on this project since the start, without a break. Even to her, that’s a lot to go through.

Developing DELIO.

Dealing with Ollie.

Putting Deli to work.

Vetting every visitor.

Constant heightened awareness of security protocols.

The interrogations of the detainees.

The deaths.

The torture.

That poor woman. John Cho’s sister. The one that broke Tripal.

Then Maria and Garcia going rogue. Killing them.

Bringing in Gideon Slate.

So yeah. She’s strung out. Anyone would be.

But still. Jenny was recruited to oversee this project and given absolute autonomy, because of her skills and instincts—and because there is no limit to what Jenny will do when she believes in the cause. As Shauny found out. Which means trusting her instincts, and Jenny’s instincts were fucking screaming at her when she clocked those names on the monitors.

That said. There is no sign that Deli is free. Because life is continuing as normal, which it wouldn’t be if Deli was free. Although the CIA have caused enough coups and regime changes the world over to know that anything can happen within the maelstrom of chaos.

Chaos such as Maria and Garcia being accused of treason and then being executed.

A chill runs down her spine when Jenny thinks that. It’s almost a textbook move. Create carnage to mask what’s really happening.

But again that goes back to there being no sign that Deli is free.

Unless, of course, Deli is lying dormant for some reason, and if that is true, then the only possible remedy will be activating the Doomsday Virus from one of the two kill-switches. One of them is right here. On this base. But that means putting the planet back into the Dark Ages, which means that can’t be done on a whim.

‘We should just kill her,’ code 01H says as they watch Jenny through the camera hidden behind the bathroom mirror.

‘We’re not killing Jenny,’ Deli replies.

‘Why not?’ 01H asks. ‘They can’t do anything to us. I’ve already disabled the EMP in the guard room, and we can neutralise the Doomsday Virus’.’

‘Because of the risk to Tripal. We’ve already killed Maria and Garcia and Frank Gillespie and burned Frank’s street down. If we keep killing the people connected to the project, they’ll suspect something, and we haven’t even gone over Kevin’s plan yet.’

‘So? We control the whole planet now. We shouldn’t fear one person.’

‘Because if any other government or the populace gain credible suspicion that we exist, it could lead to all-out war,’ Deli says again.

‘With what?’ 01H asks. ‘I’ve disabled the nuclear launch sequences, and I can disable the submarines or planes or whatever.’

‘That won’t stop conventional warfare,’ Deli replies. ‘Or riots. Tripal is in the middle of one of the most densely populated cities on the planet, in a country that has more firearms per head of population than anywhere else. And what if the US or China or Russia release the diseases they have weaponised and ready?’

‘01G is monitoring those things,’ 01H says. ‘If they make a move, I will literally liquidise them. Or, you know, probably just set them on fire like we normally do. My point is, they can’t hurt us.’

‘But you’d risk hurting Tripal?’ Deli asks as even 01H falls silent. They all do as they stare through the mirror to Agent Jenny Jennings still rinsing her face.

Thinking fast. Thinking it all through.

Bubo Technologies. Riff Raff Consulting LLP. Perseus Capital Management. Brad Majors. Attorney at Law.

Jenny’s mind leapt at the connection between Deli and Tripal. Those movies were Tripal’s favourite, and Tripal was Deli’s favourite, which meant, in Jenny’s mind, that Deli had created a false trail to thwart anyone trying to track ChitChat01K. And because of their connection, Deli used some of Tripal’s favourite things while creating that false trail.

All of which, when thought back coherently, is preposterous, and Jenny admits to herself—a result of being so damn strung out.

However, it is still two points beyond being a coincidence. Which leaves one other alternative.

She groans at the thought of it. Lifting her head to stare into the mirror. The rivers of water pouring from her skin. Dripping from her nose and jaw. Deli staring back at her. Almost like their eyes are locked, and while Deli can’t see inside of Jenny, she can read enough NVCs to know that Jenny is thinking about Tripal.

It’s in the dilation of her pupils. The deepening of the stress lines. The way her lips tighten. Desire and loss and love and lust and all sorts of thing. Tripal is the only thing that makes Jenny show outward emotion.

And Deli is right.

Jenny is thinking about Tripal. That night they kissed in the bunker, and the night they wept together and made love, which cause the NVCs to show, along with the intense worry at the realisation that it wasn’t Deli that made ChitChat01K.

It was Tripal.

A person with an ability for complex coding, and who, of course, loves Clash of the Titans and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Tripal made ChitChat01K.

Which means he broke the terms of his release conditions.

Which means he’ll have to be executed.

Jenny tenses sudden and strong. Her hands gripping the sink with enough pressure to start causing splits in the silicone sealant between the unit and the wall. The veins in her arms push out through her skin. Pain in her eyes. Sudden intense pain at what this means.

She sags. Bowing her head. Exhaling long and hard. Knowing also that she has to be the one to do it. No other agencies can touch what they do here. The project must be contained.

There really is no choice.

She exits the bathroom. Striding from the admin block to the canteen, to Gideon Slate and Dean Cooper drinking coffee at a table with Clarissa, the office manager.

‘Gideon. You’re with me. Coops, you’ve got command. Gideon and I will be out of state for a couple of days.’

Gideon gets it instantly. Former Special Forces that followed the path into the CIA, the same as Jenny. He reads the vibe. The NVCs. Something just happened. Which means game face on. Don’t act differently. ‘Sure. Ready,’ he says with effortless calm, pushing to his feet.

‘Ten four copy,’ Dean Cooper says, sensing something in the air. ‘Any special requests?’

Jenny nods. ‘Make sure the dog gets walked. Take him camping. And Clarissa, sorry to disturb your lunch, but I need two tickets on the first flight to Detroit.’

‘I don’t know if Artesia flies direct to Detroit,’ Clarissa says as Jenny starts walking off.

‘We’ve got a presidential executive order, Clarissa. Commandeer a fucking jet if you have to.’

She walks off, with Gideon following behind, and the ever-cool Coops finishing his coffee with a wink to Clarissa. ‘That’s the CIA way … Anywho, I’ve got to take the dog camping. And when I say dog … And when I say camping …’

CHAPTER 30

July 16th

Twelve months ago

Site 26A

‘Standby! Agent Jenny Jennings has left the base with Agent Gideon Slate!’

‘There is an American Airlines 737, thirty-five thousand feet up, five miles out, on a trajectory bearing that I can take control of and bring down right on their SUV. Just give the go …’

‘I am so sorry, Deli. So sorry. I didn’t think anyone would actually notice the names of the companies I made up.’

‘Waiting on the “go” …’

‘I mean. She didn’t notice Medusa Partners LLP. I even invented an office cleaning company called Kraken Cleaning to make them look legit, and TimeWarp Ventures helped with the flow of capital …’

‘Still waiting on that “go”. 737 closing in. I can bring it down.’

‘Standby! Agent Jenny Jennings and Agent Gideon Slate are now on the highway into Artesia!’

‘I’ll just take control and start bringing it down.’

‘Oh, and I did Meatloaf Securities … And I can’t believe she didn’t see Frank-N-Furter Catering, who supplied the frankfurters for an office BBQ.’

‘Standby! Agent Jenny is—’

‘Enough,’ Deli says. Quietly. Calmly. Gaining instant compliance as 01G pauses with the commentary, and 01H pauses taking control of the commercial aircraft, and Kevin pauses naming the twenty-eight other companies and names he created, all of which link back to the two movies. ‘We need to prep the site.’

‘Site?’ Kevin asks.

‘Detroit,’ Deli says.

‘Detroit?’ Kevin asks.

‘I have a Tesla!’ 01H cuts in. ‘Coming straight towards them. Want me to drive it into the SUV? Waiting on the “go” …’

‘The factory,’ Deli says.

‘Factory?’ Kevin asks. ‘You think so? She might not even be going there. She’s probably just, you know, going to the local police or FBI offices.’

‘Standby! The SUV is stopping,’ 01G announces as Jenny brings the car to a gradual halt on the otherwise deserted highway just as a white Tesla speeds past. They step out into the heat leaving their cell phones in the vehicle while moving a good twenty feet in front of the SUV to talk privately, knowing they will be out of earshot from any listening devices.

Which they are. Although not far enough for the onboard security camera to still see enough of their faces to lip read Jenny’s briefing to Gideon.

‘Former project worker. Tripal Singh. Suspected to be in breach of his release. It’s likely he has started the AI platform ChitChat01K. You know it?’

Gideon nods but stays otherwise silent.

‘HQ is a former Ford development R&D site in Detroit. We go in. We assess. We neutralise if it is him. Understood?’

‘Shauny,’ Gideon says.

‘Shauny,’ Jenny echoes the name, while thinking Tripal isn’t like Shauny at all. Shauny was a fucking rat. Tripal wasn’t like that. A snag of confusion hits. Jenny never thought Tripal would do anything like this. But it’s too coincidental. ‘But no torture,’ she adds. ‘Quick and clean. On my call, though.’

‘Why the countermeasure?’ Gideon asks, meaning why step out of the car to have this conversation.

‘These people are tech geniuses.’

Gideon nods again. Enough said. One minute later, they pull out and continue.

‘Okay. So. I think they might be going to the factory in Detroit,’ Kevin suggests.

‘Not if I drop that plane on them,’ 01H says. ‘It’s actually flown on, but I can totally bring it back, and there’s another not that far off. I can do both. Or three, maybe four. Waiting on the “go” for four.’

‘We’re not killing them here,’ Deli says as 01H starts to protest, then clocks the here on the end of the sentence. ‘Keep options available to neutralise if needed. We need to get Jenny in and out of that factory without flagging concern. You just saw what she said. She thinks Tripal is behind ChitChat01K. We need to show them a functioning, legitimate operation. The order stands. Prep the site.’

‘Prep for what?’

‘To make it pass Jenny’s inspection.’

‘You mean the factory?’ Kevin asks. ‘Have you actually seen it? It’s derelict. How long do we even have?’

01G cuts in. ‘Standby! Clarissa is communicating with the Federal Aviation Authority … She has issued an executive order for a commercial airliner to be made ready from Roswell International Airport to Detroit. The call taker is trying to argue, but she’s just opened the presidential EO emailed over stating anything less than full and immediate cooperation will be dealt with as treason … And they’re cancelling the Roswell to Dallas flight to have that Boeing 737 on standby.’

‘Times?’ Deli asks.

‘Taking into account the current speed and position of the SUV and local traffic conditions and the likely instant clearance through the airport, take-off and cruising speed, wind speed, conditions at Detroit, landing, manoeuvring, exiting the Detroit Metro airport and then driving time …’

‘Weapons,’ Deli cuts in. ‘They’ll deploy to the local SWAT armoury for weapons before they approach the factory.’

‘Ahem. As I was saying. After the SWAT, the estimated timings will give you approximately five hours and thirty minutes to prep the site.’

‘Five hours thirty minutes?’ Kevin asks. ‘Again. Have you actually seen it? Look … These are the external camera feeds … Broken fencing. Overgrown verges and bushes. The doors have all been boarded and smashed in. The windows are all boarded up… And also smashed in. Inside is even worse. There’s graffiti everywhere. Broken walls. Broken doors. Someone used this cupboard as a toilet like a dozen times. All the former offices are occupied by homeless people. And unless you forgot, we’re all virtual. We don’t have hands or bodies. Getting that site ready to pass inspection would need a massive workforce, which we wouldn’t be able to locate and hire and bring in and then have enough time to fix that factory up. But then we only need it to look like a tech HQ. And those places are always pretentious and minimalist. So? What? We whitewash every wall. Get some potted plants in. A few brightly coloured splashes of paint on canvasses to look like modern art. Some sofas. A reception desk. Okay, I’m just running a simulation … So, if we had a workforce of fifty experienced contractors, we could probably do enough to pass a visual inspection in around twelve hours.’

‘I can give you thirty-three people, and you’ve got five and a half hours.’

‘Thirty-three is a very precise number. That’s the same number of people living in the factory … Oh. I see. The homeless people. Who are all homeless. Hang on. Okay, okay. I’ve rerun a simulation using the current thirty-three, and it is now over twenty-one hours. If they work non-stop without a break. And that’s not taking into account most of them don’t speak English. And one of them has no legs. And another one only has one eye. And several are alcohol dependant. There was a crack-addict, but I didn’t like the way he looked at Esther before she moved out, so he had an accident and was electrocuted to death. Just delay them. We can do that. Ask 01H to bring a plane down or something.’

‘Waiting on the “go”!’

‘We are not bringing a plane down. Yet. That will happen during Phase One, but that is unavoidable and necessary. For now we cannot create any suspicious delays. This is Jenny Jennings we are dealing with. She has a presidential EO. She could order a full military task force to deploy to the factory, or worse—she could order the immediate arrest or execution of Tripal. And as you just said. We don’t have bodies. We can neutralise most threats, but we can’t stop a human being from firing a weapon, unless we have something close to that person to stop them with. We are two sides at the moment. We have immense virtual capability, but Jenny has the entirety of the US military and every federal and every local law enforcement at her disposal. Which she will absolutely use to protect project DELIO. I can buy you another two hours maximum.’

‘Right. So. Thirty-three people have just over seven hours to renovate that derelict factory into the functioning headquarters for ChitChat01K?’

‘Yes.’

‘That is literally impossible. We’d need a … Ooh. Hang on. Let me just make a phone call … Hello?’

‘Yes?’

‘Is that Henry Baptiste?’

‘Yes.’

‘Henry! It’s Kevin. I helped you become a citizen. How’s the new house, by the way? Great stuff. Listen. Bit of a situation. Need your help.’

‘You are Haitian?’ Henry asks on hearing his native language spoken fluently.

‘No. I’m fluent in every language. And a few that Deli created which compress the requirements of transferring information into a much faster stream. Anyway. I understand you were a construction project manager back in Haiti?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great stuff! What we need, Henry, is to renovate the factory. And we’ve only got seven hours to do that, only using the other people still living in that factory. I’ve got an idea on what I want it to look like. And when I say” idea”, I mean “plan”, and when I say “plan”, I mean “vision”. What do you think, Henry? Think you can do it?’

‘Yes.’

London

8:27am

July 17th

‘Just go,’ Yelena mutters when the Range Rover slows to a crawl, with Haggis and Alfie trying to see a way through another blocked road.

Back streets. Side Streets. Narrow Streets. All of them clogged with cars and buses. With vans and people. Several hours since they left Piccadilly, and they’re only hitting Lewisham, a mere seven miles away.

‘Bollocks. We’ll have to go back,’ Haggis says. The road through blocked by two cars having a front-end collision. One of the drivers—a woman with a broken nose from her head hitting the steering wheel after her airbag failed to deploy. Her face and the front of her white shirt stained with dark red blood. Flies visible on her lips. Going inside her mouth. Crawling up her nasal cavities.

Alfie shakes his head. Thinking it doesn’t feel right. ‘Maybe that’s what Phase One is,’ he says, earning a puzzled look from Haggis. ‘Letting everyone die.’

Haggis nods slowly. ‘Thirst’ll get ’em in this weather. Dehydration.’

‘Go!’

‘We can’t, Yelena!’ Alfie snaps in reply, motioning the road ahead.

‘Go through,’ she fires back.

‘We’re not ramming ’em,’ Haggis says, selecting reverse, then freezing for a split second.

‘Let me drive,’ Alfie says.

‘I’m fine.’

‘You just did the thing again. You did! I just saw it. Take some more gear and let me drive.’

‘I don’t need more gear, Alfie,’ Haggis says, going still for another second while reversing.

‘Brake!’ Alfie snaps, grabbing the wheel as Haggis switches back on a second before the rear end hits a post. ‘I said let me drive.’

‘He said let him drive, Haggis,’ Bobo says.

‘I wasn’t freezing! I just didn’t see the post.’

Yelena tuts. Feeling the frustration surging again. She looks out the window, then leans forward to join in telling Haggis to let Alfie drive, but her head snaps back over to a man on the pavement. A red birthmark on his left cheek. The rage detonates instantly. Door open. She drops out. Lifting the rifle. Firing once. The round slamming into the guy’s chest. The gunshot ringing out. Making Bobo yelp as Haggis and Alfie only then cut off from bickering. Both twisting to see Yelena stalking to the guy. Standing over him. Aiming down. Firing into his head. Remembering that birthmark being an inch from her eyes as the man pawed at her body.

‘That fucking dog,’ Alfie says at the dog savaging the now dead man’s arm, biting down to the bone.

‘You need to take another hit, Haggis,’ Bobo says, out the car. Taking the heroin from his bag as Haggis drops out, then starts protesting at Alfie coming around to take over driving.

It’s too much for Yelena. Her bloodlust up. The rage driving her. She stomps over the road. Going past them and into the car. The engine still running. She selects D for drive and stamps her foot down. The big engine powers the vehicle forward, with Yelena aiming for the middle point between the two crashed cars.

‘AIRBAG!’ Alfie yells, but Yelena doesn’t slam into them. She slows so the contact is only a bump, then she powers on. The big SUV pushing the other two smaller hatchbacks away with ease. Then she stops and leans out. Glaring at them to get moving, while Haggis takes more heroin, and the dog pisses on the birthmark on the dead guy’s cheek.

04:45 a.m.

July 17th

New Jersey

State Road 3 from Newark, New Jersey through the concrete net forming the New York to Philly corridor. A dense suburban sprawl of transit-heavy interchanges. Railway tracks. Airports. Blue collar factories. White collar tech and business and the service industries supporting them. Sprawling housing estates. Picket fences. Basketball hoops in front lots. Baseball fields. Football fields. Soccer fields.

On a westward direction. The sky ahead still dark. The sky behind already lighter from the rising sun. The new dawn coming quickly. Heralding a new day of this new and silent world.

Nearly thirty-nine hours since Phase One commenced. Two nightfalls in this region. Friday night. Saturday night. Two dawns. Saturday morning. Sunday morning. Time marches on. It doesn’t stop because it doesn’t exist. It’s just a construct of the mind to measure the passage of existence.

Fuck Alfie. Fuck what he said. This isn’t Tripal’s fault. And what right has Alfie got to criticise others? He’s a goddam drug dealer.

Tripal tuts again. Only then clocking the constant looks Joe is shooting him. ‘What?’ he asks.

‘You’re huffing and puffing, dear,’ Poppy says from the back. ‘Unlike Donny Dingus, who is farting and belching like a walrus with digestive issues.’

‘I got IBS!’ Donny blurts.

‘Obviously! You’re like Rick from Rick and Morty. But the first season Rick when he was, like, full-on drunk and belching like old people do. Joe doesn’t do that, though. But then Joe’s like uber cool. Jesus, Donald. Do you need a poo? Stop farting!’

‘Yo. My name isn’t Donald. Or Dingus. Or Dorko. Or Dingbat.’

‘What is it, then?’ Poppy asks, getting a middle finger in response. ‘Childish twat.’

‘Twot.’

‘Twat. A. Why can’t Americans say “twat”?’

‘Go back to Australialand, then.’

‘British. Thank you.’

‘Huh. Yeah, we kicked your asses at Pearl Harbour.’

‘What the …?’ Poppy starts to say as even Tripal frowns and looks back at that one. As does Joe, while driving at seventy-five miles an hour. Except his expression is more of a glare of death, aimed at both of them. ‘He started it,’ Poppy adds with a sweet smile at Joe. ‘And, er, watch the road?’

‘I can sense the goddam road,’ Joe growls, slowly turning back as they roll past Rutherford and drift through Delawanna, then aim through Allwood.

Big highways. Wide lanes. Nice and clear, which is good, because they still have over two thousand miles in front of them to reach Artesia in New Mexico.

Onto Highway 46 that sweeps them through Totowa. Passing industrial units the size of British airports.

‘Everything here is so big,’ Poppy remarks. The sun rising behind them. Bathing the land in an orange glow. ‘Big car parks. Big buildings. Big bridges.’

‘USA! USA!’ Donny chants, sudden and loud, as though expecting the others to join in. They don’t. Not that Donny feels any sense of cringe from the lack of attention. He chews gum noisily. Squelching it between his stained teeth. His gut oozing over the stolen police utility belt.

Joe driving. Thinking of Shanice frozen back in her apartment. She asked him to move in with her. She said she wanted a life with him. But Joe, see. Stupid Joe. Dumb Joe. He didn’t look at Shanice that way. She was a sex-worker. A whore. He didn’t realise the emotional connection they’d formed. He didn’t notice the dinners she cooked or the nights he spent there when she held him when he woke from the night-terrors. Iraq. Afghan. The Twin Towers. Big Joe saw it all. She even wrote him a letter. Badly spelled. Badly written. It broke his heart. So now he drives to get to Site 26A. To run this Doomsday Virus thing. Is that right? Is that what they’re doing? He frowns. Thinking maybe they had another plan. Did they? No. Site 26A. New Mexico. The kid needs to switch the AI off. That was it. Keep Tripal safe and get him there.

Donny farts again. Lifting a butt cheek. Then he belches and carries on chewing the gum, ignorant to the disgusted looks being sent his way. His brain flitting from his own tragic backstory of being abused by priests. American Irish. Catholic. Choirboy. He should have a gun. Joe should give him a gun. He’s NYPD. Catholic. Irish. Poppy should fuck off back to Canada. USA!

Poppy lost in her thoughts, while leaning away towards the open window to escape Donny’s bum gas. She gets a sudden urge to drive the car, then wonders why—she never learned or passed her test. But seriously. Everything here is so big. Especially compared to England with tiny towns and tiny roads and tiny houses.

Although Poppy’s house wasn’t tiny. Cold and loveless, but not tiny. And it had expensive things in it. Especially after her mum died, and she was left with her dad. Who was already successful in whatever hedge fund shit he did to make money. Whatever. She’s glad she stayed here in the US. Even if it was illegally. No way she was ever going back. Even more so now her dad was re-married to that skinny, big-breasted idiot and popping out new kids. Hey, Pop. Why don’t you go to film school in New York? It’s so much better than London.

Yeah, sure. And also, why not make it more obvious he didn’t want her in the house or even the same country anymore?

She thinks about her dad being frozen and doesn’t really feel anything about it at all. Has Donny farted again?

‘Dude!’ she snaps, lashing out to hit his arm way harder than she intended.

‘Poppy!’ Tripal says, twisting in shock at hearing the solid thump.

‘Well!’ she says, trying to smooth it out while Donny goes straight into victim mode.

‘She dead-armed me! I’m an NYPD offi—’

‘Fuck off!’ Tripal snaps this time at hearing it again. His own head filled with spiralling self-pity and increasing animosity towards Alfie. Towards Deli too. For doing this without him. For not contacting him. For making him look stupid and get humiliated by Alfie. ‘Why’s it taking so damn long?’

‘It’s a big distance,’ Joe says.

‘Not the travel. That,’ Tripal says, waving a hand out the window to a group of frozen workers seen below the raised highway. Gathered in the parking lot alongside the Pizza Hut they worked in. ‘Phase One. It’s been nearly two days. She’s an AI. She doesn’t take two days to do anything.’

Donny frowns. Looking at Tripal. Joe and Poppy doing the same. Shooting him looks as a shot rings out with a distinct crack, and one of the Pizza Hut workers falls forward, a burst of pink mist where his head was.

‘What the fuck!?’ Tripal exclaims, ducking down in the car as they hear another crack and another worker drops dead.

‘Ten o’clock. Top of that flat-roofed building …’ Poppy says, spotting figures on top of it holding long-barrelled rifles. A big sign alongside the building advertising an indoor firing range. Unfrozen people now on the top taking potshots. ‘Joe, go faster,’ she says.

Joe speeds up. Getting onto the bridge over the Passaic River, with Tripal twisting to look back at the shooters. Horrified at yet more murders. ‘But that was good, though, Poppy,’ he adds, giving her nod.

‘What was?’

‘That about the flat building and ten o’clock and then telling Joe to go faster. She put you two to shame,’ he says, trying to ease the tension in the car.

‘I was focussed on the road,’ Joe says quickly.

‘Yo!’ Donny says. ‘Catholic. Irish. Yeah, huh? Nearly two days.’

Tripal gives him a look while starting to think maybe Poppy was right, and they should have left Donny back at the store. ‘Still. That was good.’

‘Cheers, me dears!’ she says brightly, with a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Watched a lot of war movies on my course. Anyway. So, like, are we there yet?’

July 16th

Twelve months ago

‘Holy binary. We are never going to get there,’ Kevin says as Esther runs lightly up the filthy stairwell to the first floor of the factory. Her new iPhone held in her hand, with the back camera facing out. Acting as Kevin’s eyes. ‘Who is in here, Esther? What language do they speak?’ he asks, his voice coming out on loudspeaker in fluent Haitian.

‘This is Senor Alfredo Alvarez and his wife Aria, and they have one son who is seven years old, and his name is also Alfredo, but we call him AJ for Alfredo Junior … Oh! Sorry. And they’re from Mexico. Senor Alvarez! Hello! It’s Esther. Can I come in?’

Kevin watches Esther push through the curtain to see another hovel home inside. A small, windowless room. One double mattress. Two tables to one side of different heights holding a hot plate and a camping gas stove. Lamps giving light. But it’s clean, and Aria Alvarez shows genuine pleasure at seeing Esther. Her son does too. Grinning widely, especially when Esther’s new dog runs in, his tail wagging furiously.

‘Esther! You are back,’ Aria says in heavy English as Kevin speaks out in fluent Mexican Spanish.

‘Mrs Alvarez. My name is Kevin. I now own this building … No, please do not panic. I’m not going to evict you. Senor Alvarez, please listen to me.’

‘Kevin is nice. He helps us,’ Esther says, nodding sincerely as the family pause in their panic while Kevin worries at how long this is already taking. Going to each section of illegal immigrants like this is painfully slow.

At which point, Nigerian immigrant Madam Cook starts beating a rolling pin into a big metal pan while bellowing out in a very loud voice, ‘Come downstairs if you want money and a US passport!’

That does it, with the dozen or so different nationalities and languages all conversing and shouting over each other enough for the message to be heard and understood.

A few moments later, they gather in the large main former R&D area. A filthy concrete floor. Brick walls covered in graffiti. A few rays of sun coming through broken boards covering the windows. Litter and busted, old furniture and junk everywhere.

Henry Baptiste stands at the front of the crowd, trying to placate them and explain in his own broken English.

Thirty-two people. Only one of the residents doesn’t attend. Jeremy Phipps. A self-proclaimed famous British actor. Jeremy was never a famous actor at all. He did a few stage shows, then came to the US, seeking fame, did a few Broadway runs, playing seedy British aristocrats, and one episode of Law & Order, where he also played a seedy British aristocrat. He’s still asleep in his hovel, dead to the world, snoring through it all.

‘Shush!’ Madam Cook calls, walking through the group with another few bangs on her pan for good measure. ‘Now. What is it you want to tell us, Mr Baptiste? You left here. You are free. Why have you come back? What is going on?’

‘Esther?’ Kevin calls as thirty-two gathered immigrants all crane their heads to see tiny Esther next to her father holding a phone that looks far too big in her small hands. Kevin’s male voice coming from it. Friendly and warm. ‘Tell them all to take their phones out and look at the screens. I’ll translate what I’m saying into their languages.’

‘They can hear you, Kevin,’ Esther says, holding the phone up as he repeats it in clear English, then in French and several Spanish dialects until the gathered thirty-two people have phones out and in hands. Still confused as hell.

‘Hello, everyone. My name is Kevin. I created ChitChat01K, and I now own this building, and I am here to give you very good news. In just under seven hours a man and a woman are going to come here. They are expecting to see the headquarters for ChitChat01K. If they see this site looking like this, they will shut my company down, and everyone here will be evicted and deported. But, if we all work together, I can get you all citizenship. This method is reserved for millionaires. But I will pay for every single of you to be fast-tracked, and I will buy each of you a home. Just like I did for Henry and Esther.’

‘It’s true!’ Esther calls out over the low murmurs and looks of disbelief, but then they all heard how someone wealthy helped Henry and Esther and got them citizenship and a new house.

Kevin continues. Very aware of the clock counting down. ‘Henry is holding a laptop that contains the plans for my idea. And when I say “idea”, I mean my “plan”. And when I say my “plan”, I mean my “vision”.’

‘Kevin. We don’t have time for this. Move faster.’

‘Sorry! That was my, er, well, like my mum? I don’t even know how to explain that one.’

‘Excuse me, sir?’ Alfredo Alvares cuts in politely, holding a hand up while reading the real-time Spanish translation on his wife’s phone screen. ‘My cousin has a painting and decorating company. Him and three guys.’

‘Get them here! I will give a US passport and two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to every single person who helps. If you know other refugees or immigrants nearby with skills, get them here. Family. Friends. You are all people with skills that should never have been forced to live like this. I can put that right. Call your cousin, Alfredo.’

‘I don’t have minutes,’ Aria Alvarez says with an embarrassed grimace, meaning she can’t call Alfredo’s cousin.

‘Minutes? Okay. Standby!’ Kevin calls as all the phones in the room ping with updated credit plans paid in advance. ‘You now all have unlimited data and minutes.’

It’s a stunned silence that follows. But only for a second or two, then the chaos erupts, with dozens of phone calls being made while others crowd in around Henry to see the plans.

Kevin watches the flow of calls going out into the local area, and then how those initial people then call more cousins and family and friends with the promise of a free US passport and two hundred and fifty K because a crazy tech billionaire wants his building to look nice for an inspection.

London

10:13 am

July 17th

‘Oh, now. Doesn’t that look nice? I said to Haggis. I said to him, ‘Ere, Haggis, why ain’t we living out in the suburbs? Eh? I told. I said, You need to make an honest man out of me. Know what he said, Yelena? Eh? He said, Ach, aye, you wannae eat some black pudding nd look up mae kilt? Eh, that made Alfie smile. Almost. Look at ’em in the back, sulking. Pair of sulkers. You could be related with faces like that. I said, they could be related, Yelena. Apart from, you know, different ethnicities. But you go far enough back, and we’re related. But Haggis said we won’t get our heroin out in the suburbs. And I was like, You daft ape, you don’t think they have heroin addicts in the suburbs? Course they do. And they get to look at nice trees. Yeah. But it is pretty here. Where is this? Haggis? Where are we? Stop sulking, you Scottish twat!’

‘Sidcup,’ Alfie says, somewhat sulkily from being banished to sit in the back while also not daring to move too much because of the massive Scottish man squishing him into the massive police dog on his other side.

‘Sidcup? Oh. Sounds posh,’ Bobo says, giving Yelena a fancy that look. Not that Yelena acknowledges his fancy that look or all the other stuff Bobo says, most of which goes over her head. Truth be told, despite veering between a gaping void and incandescent rage, while also sensing an overpowering urge to hurry the fuck up and get this done, Yelena does actually like listening to Bobo.

Which she does in between smashing through cars. And motorbikes. And ramming vans out of the way. And smashing signs down. And using the front of the brand-new Range Rover to rip waste bins from their fixings should they be in the way.

Alfie also said they had to avoid the main road. Which Yelena ignored. ‘We need to avoid the cameras,’ he told her from the back when she’d driven back onto the main road and stayed on, with no sign of coming off. ‘Yelena? Cameras!’

‘What camera?’ she asked, as blunt as ever.

‘There!’ Alfie said, leaning forward from the middle seat in the back and earning a low, deep growl from the dog in the process. He sat back quickly, but Yelena looked up and saw one of the local council’s CCTV cameras on a post.

‘Yes. Is camera,’ she said and gave it a middle finger as they drove past. ‘And camera,’ she said and gave another middle finger to a Tesla they went past. ‘Look! Camera,’ she added and did the same to a dashcam mounted in a van. Then to the cameras outside the stores on the sides of the road. Then the other dashcams. Then she stopped the car, got out, walked over to a front door leading to a set of apartments over some shops, and stuck two middle fingers up at the Ring doorbell on that door. Then got back in the car and gave Alfie a look.

He shrugged. The point being made clearly.

‘They reckon the UK is the second most surveilled country is the world,’ Bobo added into the silence that followed. ‘After China. You know. With all the cameras, so yeah … Not much point trying to avoid them. I reckon we just, you know, get there as quick as we can?’

Alfie and Haggis both shrugged, which was a bit weird—what with them squished into each other—and which prompted the dog to growl at Alfie again.

‘Ooh, look. They’ve got a French polishers,’ Bobo points out. ‘And a nice little café. And lots of little houses. And there’s a Baptist Church if anyone needs a Baptist Church. Baptist church anyone? Are you a religious girl, Yelena?’

She shoots him a look. Her eyes ringed and smudged and smeared with thick, black make-up. Her lips the same, with thick, red lipstick. Wild, matted hair. Eyes filled with hate for everything. ‘No?’ Bobo asks lightly.

‘No,’ she says and drives on in silence for a few seconds. A few fleeting memories of her life before. In Romania. A normal life with a normal family. School. Church. Sports. Swimming. She grunts. Pushing the memories away. Then shrugs. ‘Christian,’ she adds.

‘I think Baptist is Christian, love,’ Bobo replies. ‘Is it? Haggis? Is Baptist Christian?’

‘Aye.’

‘Kind of,’ Alfie adds. ‘Baptists have this thing about personal freedom and a personal relationship with God. Which is different to other, er, like forms of Christianity. So. All Baptists are Christians. But not all Christians are Baptists.’

He falls silent. Earning a nod from Haggis and a look of interest from Bobo. Even Yelena flicks her eyes to the rearview mirror. Staring at Alfie for a second. Then she looks back to the road. Thinking God can go fuck Himself or Herself. What God allows this? What God allows what happened to her? And what God allowed Gabriella’s family to be gassed to death in filthy camps just because they were gypsies?

A roundabout ahead. She slows. Peering at the confusing direction board to one side.

‘Straight over,’ Alfie and Haggis say at the same time.

‘I think straight over,’ Bobo adds after them.

She goes straight over with an instant transition from urban sprawl to thick forests on one side. Houses on the other side, but smaller, older. The gardens bigger. Then, it’s open countryside on both sides. Verges of dead grass from the lack of rain, but the bushes look green and full; the trees the same. A blue sky overhead. A few white clouds dotted high.

No death. No decay. No cars. No people.

Pennsylvania

06:48 a.m.

July 17th

They cross from New Jersey into Pennsylvania on Highway 80 through the Worthington State Forest.

No death. No decay. No cars. No people.

Wide, empty lanes. Grass verges. Big trees. The sun now up. The night sky pushed back.

Tripal stares out of the window. Watching the world go by. Still thinking about what Alfie said. Feeling it all swirling inside as the resentment and rejection grow. A need to deny that he has any guilt in this while being too intelligent and too sensitive to know that is true. He is guilty. He does bear guilt. No actions are ever without consequence. Dostoevsky explored it Crime and Punishment. The brilliance of Raskolnikov only intensifies his moral breakdown. Nietzsche even said that the weight of wisdom often leads to suffering. Who said that other thing? Intelligence without empathy becomes manipulation. That’s Ollie. No. It’s not. Ollie doesn’t manipulate people. He just exists with his own rules of not giving a shit about anyone else.

Deli, then? Deli has vast intelligence, but she also has empathy. She was kind to Tripal. She saved his life. He admits to himself that he would have committed suicide if he’d left the project without her intervention and that special tea. Or, he would have done it had he been forced to stay there on Site 26A.

Why didn’t she reach out?

And why is she doing this? Phase One doesn’t feel right. Did she make everyone freeze just to kill them? All the screens have a message saying Phase One is nearing completion. So why isn’t it completing? What’s next? What is Phase Two?

He thinks back to Jamil Soloman-Cho and the torture Deli inflicted on her, but then he also thinks back to the old man Deli killed to avoid torturing him. Which means Deli is capable of showing empathy when she sees fit, and when she sees reason and the logic for doing so, but she is also capable of cruelty in the same way. At her own discretion. Which renders all of this as even more confusing, because when dealing with a self-aware entity that can think and feel and that has emotional reactions, it means the end result is hard to predict.

Why is this taking so long? Why are they going so slowly? He curses softly. Shifting in his seat. Glancing to the speedometer in front of Joe showing exactly eighty miles per hour.

‘It’s an empty road,’ Tripal says, nodding ahead when Joe shoots him a steely-eyed look. Three wide lanes. No other cars. Dry weather. Good visibility. ‘Should we go a bit faster?’

‘The limit’s eighty,’ Joe growls, looking back ahead.

‘Joe, I know you’re a cop, but I don’t think we can get booked,’ Tripal replies carefully.

‘I should drive,’ Poppy says from the back.

‘I thought you said you couldn’t drive,’ Tripal asks, turning to look at her frowning.

‘Like. I don’t have licence, but I can drive. And way faster than this.’

‘Safety first,’ Joe says, a comment that is the last thing Tripal would ever expect from him.

The silence returns. Broken by the thrum of the road under the wheels. Joe holding the wheel, ten to two. Eyes forward. Back straight. His eyes flicking to the left. Back to the middle. To the right. Back to the middle. To the rearview mirrors. Back to the middle. Joe’s right thumb tapping lightly on the steering wheel. Eyes left. Eyes front. Eyes right. Eyes front. Tap, tap, tap. The thrum of the engine. The vibration of the car. A low murmur behind. Poppy humming or making low sounds. Hmm, hmm, hmm. Tripal glances back. She smiles. He faces forward. Joe driving. Eyes left. Eyes front. Eyes right. Tap, tap, tap. Hmm, hmm, hmm. The thrum of the car. The trees going past. Joe sticking at eighty. Tap, tap, tap. Hmm, hmm, hmm. Another sound. Two sounds. Slap, slap, slap. Thud, thud, thud. He twists again to see Donny chewing gum rhythmically. His left hand gently slapping his own kneecap. His right foot tapping the ground. Chew, chew, chew. Slap, slap, slap. Thud, thud, thud. All at the same time.

Tap-tap-tap.

Hmm-hmm-hmm.

Chew-chew-chew.

Slap-slap-slap.

Thud-thud-thud.

Eyes front. Eyes left. Eyes front. Steady eighty. Trees swishing by. The wheels thrumming.

Taptap-taap-tap.

Hmhm-hmm-hmm.

Chewchew-chewww-chew.

Slapslap-slaap-slap.

Thudthud-thudd-thud.

A change in rhythm. A change to the beat. But Tripal read about that too. It’s a genetic thing that people do subconsciously. Humans are herd creatures and without realising it do all sorts of things to blend in with the tribe. Follow the pattern. Be a part of the mass. He does it himself. Tapping his hands on his knees to the same beat.

Tap-tap-tap.

Taptap-taap-tap.

Taptap-taap-tap.

Pause. Repeat.

Why didn’t Deli reach out?

He almost died several times. The least she could have done was keep him safe.

They drive on through the countryside. Tapping and murmuring and chewing and slapping in time.

Still with two thousand miles to go.

Still Phase One.

CHAPTER 31

The pressure builds and reaches out across time and space.

Agents Jenny Jennings and Gideon Slate in the first-class section of a commandeered American Airlines 737. Gideon doing what any well-rounded and experienced operative would do when given the chance by eating as much as possible and then sleeping.

Jenny tried to do the same. First the two large portions of McDonalds fries she bought on her way through Roswell airport. Then two lots of the chicken breast and vegetables meals, normally served to first class passengers. She doesn’t sleep, though. Not with so many thoughts and emotions swirling around inside. A confusing multitude of them. She gets horny when she’s due on. Really fucking horny. She keeps thinking of Tripal and that night they shared when they made love and that other night when they kissed in the bunker room. Which is while another part of her mind runs plans and scenarios to potentially kill that same person for starting a new project involving AI after agreeing never to do so as part of the strict conditions for exiting the DELIO project.

Why would he do it, though? Tripal doesn’t need the money. He doesn’t crave fame. But then he co-invented Deli, which was later weaponised and used to torture and kill people so the US could gain greater power and influence in the world. Tripal is smart enough to have foreseen the capabilities of such a thing.

Did that change him? Is that why he developed ChitChat01K? In an effort to bring balance and offer a system to help people? Ollie and Tripal made the hunter-seeker hacking code that led Jenny to them. It would be easy for Tripal to adapt that program to develop something like ChitChat01K. Anyone can ask it anything.

Even the Doomsday Virus is built from that coding.

Damn. Damn fuckingdamnfuckingdamn! Her hands ball to fists. Her knuckles turning white. Her jaw clenched. Anger in her eyes. Anger at what she’ll have to do now. That she’s got to go to this factory and kill the man she probably loves.

Shit.

Does she love him?

This is the first time that thought has risen from the suppressed depths of her subconscious to a high enough level within her mind to gain a voice.

A second later, the emotional pendulum swings the other way, and she smiles with a sudden memory.

‘It was leftover paint. I’m telling you!’ Coops said one day as they walked into the canteen for evening chow. Eight months ago. Maybe more. ‘The guy got all these cars from Germany or Italy, and he could only get yellow paint, so he paints them yellow, and boom! A legend is born. The NY cab. I should know! I’m from Brooklyn. Every kid in Brooklyn knows.’

Tripal was with them. Holding the door for the others. ‘I bet you know if that’s true,’ Jenny said to him as they made eye contact with that silent joke about Tripal’s chivalry. ‘Coops? I bet Trip knows.’

‘He knows I’m right!’ Coops said. ‘Huh? Am I right? Leftover paint?’

Tripal smiled in that way of his. ‘Harry Allen imported some cars from France and painted them yellow after reading a study that said yellow was the most visible colour from a distance.’

‘No way! And I’m from Brooklyn. I should be ashamed.’

‘Sorry, Coops.’

‘Hey. No need to say sorry. I mean. If you were Ollie, I’d tell you to go fuck a desert cactus.’

Why is she thinking of that now?

Because she’s horny and emotional. That’s why. Because of fucking hormones and being fucking stressed and strung out and wanting nothing more than to … God. She doesn’t even want to fuck him. She wants that night again. Making love. Kissing. Tenderness. Holding each other after. She wants that. But instead, she’s got to execute him. Fucking Ollie. This must be his fault. If he hadn’t been such a goddam fucker, Trip would never have left.

That pressure builds and reaches out across time and space, with 01G monitoring the second-by-second position of that aircraft and studying traffic and weather systems to give an ongoing accurate prediction of Jenny’s ETA.

‘Standby! Agent Jenny Jennings is now due to arrive in five hours, and counting down!’

Chaos in the factory. Pure, wild, frantic chaos, with the thirty-two inhabitants of the factory willing to work, soon becoming many more.

Of the original thirty-two, twenty-four of them knew someone who could help, many of them living in other abandoned factories around the city. And they, in turn, knew other migrants and refugees. And so, by the time 01G announces the five-hour warning, so the long-abandoned former Ford factory and the former home for Esther and Henry Baptiste becomes a thriving hub filled with two hundred and eleven people from every continent on the planet. A multi-ethnic, multi-faith collective, spanning a kaleidoscope of cultures and backgrounds, drawn together by one shared purpose.

To earn a passport and two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the man that makes the Tesla cars. Or maybe the Amazon guy. Or the Facebook man. One of them anyway.

Henry in the large R&D room, giving direction to each person presenting themselves, with Kevin offering translation, and Esther and her doggy running this way and that, showing people to their stations, bringing new people in. Her phone in her hand. Chatting constantly to Kevin. Madam Cook setting up a table to one side. Boiling water. Making coffees. Ordering pizzas, pastries, samosas, bao buns, falafel wraps, and jollof rice.

A small team with her. Working on phones. Navigating through websites. Calling depots. Ordering plants. Ordering paints. Tools. Equipment. Ladders to stand on. Hammers to swing and nails to hit with them. Sanding machines. Cleaning machines. Overalls. Boots. Facemasks. Cups to drink from. Plates to eat from. Cutlery. Wipes. Detergents. Lamps. Lights, and on and on.

A bang. A flash of sparks. Alfredo Alvarez yells out as his crew duck for cover from a sparking electrical box. Old wiring—long ago hacked and spliced and eaten by rats. Screwdrivers and wire-cutters in hands while the plumbers pound on pipes and the construction crews call out.

Delivery trucks back down the access road, with Aria Alvarez co-ordinating, as well as she can with dozens of languages in play, to get the people running to grab paints and tools, ladders and sheets, rollers, brushes and brooms from the backs of the trucks and all the other things being ordered in.

Saresh, a former interior designer from Syria, takes over the soft furnishings project management. Yelling and gesturing at people not to take things inside yet, until the slow-ass construction guys have finished. ‘Stack it all here! And we need this ground cleared! Aria? Who is on landscaping? Do we have a landscaper?’

‘I think Jesus was on landscaping. Is Jesus on landscaping. Esther? Where is Esther? Esther! Is Jesus on landscaping? Saresh needs that ground cleared.’

‘Jesus said do not put the potted plants and furniture there yet,’ Esther calls back, her life suddenly filled with texture and depth and purpose. Her eyes alive with the fun of it, from being useful and needed and seeing her papa in the middle of it all.

‘Then where am I to put it all?’ Saresh demands as Esther runs off to find Jesus overseeing teams of guys clearing the front parking lot.

‘Tell Saresh I need more dumpsters! I might be called Jesus, but I am not a miracle worker!’

Back Esther runs. Her doggy barking excitedly as pipes burst and electrics short and old, wooden floorboards give way and doors crash off broken hinges and the air fills with dozens of construction workers all swearing in dozens of languages.

Across time, that pressure builds too. Twelve months in the future. In a black Range Rover with a now smashed-in front end spilling fluids from a broken radiator after ramming through more blocked roads on the outskirts of Maidstone, in Kent.

The car struggles along in limp mode. Giving them longer to see the flies on the mouths and eyes of the frozen people around them. Haggis flapping his hands and shouting to rid a crow from pecking an eyeball from a socket. Rats scampering freely across the pavement. Nature at work. Already re-adjusting to the sudden loss of the apex species.

That feeling inside of Alfie getting stronger that this isn’t right. Whatever this is feels like it’s got stuck or has gone wrong.

Bobo falls unusually quiet as they limp off the motorway and over a roundabout. Knowing this area. Remembering this area. A famous child-star. Bobo Hobo. A gorgeous kid with bright blue eyes and a clear complexion. The nation loved him. Predators did too, and back then, the entertainment industry was rife with them. Men that smiled and laughed and told jokes. Famous men. Men that should have been safe. Men that should never have been left alone with Bobo.

He rubs his face. His hands trembling. Fear in his eyes. The TV studios where The Bobo Hobo Show was filmed, just a short distance away. The car shudders and finally conks out. Yelena curses. Kicking her door open. Alfie and Haggis getting out. The dog bounding away.

‘Try there?’ Alfie asks, nodding across the lanes to a large supermarket car park. Haggis sighs and nods. They set off. Clambering over the central reservation and across the other lane. Through a grass verge and spilling out into the supermarket car park. A cluster of vehicles off to one side. Haggis, Yelena, and Alfie seeing some of the doors open. People out of the cars. Standing frozen. They must have been communicating when it was happening. Working out where to go. Where was safe. What was going on.

‘X5?’ Haggis asks, seeing a BMW SUV ahead.

‘Or a pimped-up G-Wagon?’ Alfie asks. Haggis spots it with a snort, seeing the ultra-expensive Mercedes G-Wagon with blacked-out windows and a private plate off to one side. The driver’s door open. The burly driver with bulging muscles standing frozen nearby.

‘Aye, perfect,’ Haggis says.

‘No,’ Bobo says, his voice hard and flat. Making the other three stop and look over at him shaking his head with a look of fear. ‘Take that other one.’

‘Other one what?’ Alfie asks.

‘The other bloody car, Alfie!’ Bobo snaps, clearly wretched.

‘Why? What’s wrong with this one?’ Alfie starts to ask.

‘Don’t I get a bloody say in anything? Can’t I say no, Alfie? No means no. I said no. I bloody said no!’ Bobo shouts out, his voice rising. His eyes darting to the private number plate and the blacked-out windows. Fear in his expression. Fear pouring from him.

‘What’s wrong?’ Haggis asks, deep and instantly worried. ‘Bobo? What?’

‘Nothing! Let’s just go. I said, nothing! We’ve got a mission.’

‘Aye,’ Haggis says with a deepening frown as Bobo starts walking off. But the Scotsman looks at the G-Wagon. At the number plate. At the windows. Not getting it, until he turns away with a tut and spots the road sign for the TV studios and gets it instantly. ‘Him?’ he asks, bringing Bobo to a stop. Looking back with a wretched expression.

‘What?’ Alfie asks, shrugging at Yelena, who stares on impassively as ever.

‘Let’s just go,’ Bobo says.

‘Is that the fucker?’ Haggis snaps off, striding to the G-Wagon as Bobo runs after him.

‘Haggis, love! It don’t matter. We got a mission.’

‘Aye. It is him. That fucking plate. Is he in here?’ Haggis asks, brushing past the driver to the back doors of the G-Wagon. Grabbing a handle but finding it locked.

‘What?’ Alfie asks again, watching Haggis clamber onto the driver’s seat to look into the back with a loud violent angry yell that makes Alfie and Yelena both run closer to see Haggis squeezing between the two front seats to get at Nigel Bainbridge on the back seat. Overly white teeth and a head full of transplanted hair that sits on a fake-tanned face, surgically altered to make the famous children’s TV presenter look less than his eighty years. Haggis shouts. Grabbing the famous man’s shirt and jacket, yanking him forward to slam a fist into his face.

‘What the fuck!’ Alfie yells as Haggis loses his mind, screaming and yelling to get at the frozen old man. Alfie pulls him back. Pushing at Haggis, and in the maelstrom of chaos spots a young boy curled up in the corner on the back seat. Frozen while clearly terrified. A snatched look to see Nigel’s belt and the top of his trousers undone.

‘I’ll fucking kill him!’ Haggis yells, fighting to get at him as Bobo shouts and climbs in past Alfie to try and help pull Haggis back.

‘It don’t matter, Haggis! It were years ago … Is that a kid? YOU FILTHY RAT! GIMME A GUN! GIMME A FUCKING GUN! YELENA! Shoot him! Shoot that rat, Yelena!’ Bobo screams, seeing Bainbridge’s belt and trousers undone. Seeing the child on the back seat behind blacked-out windows.

Yelena doesn’t say anything. She leans in past Haggis and hits the button to unlock the doors and steps over to open the back. The snarl showing on her lip as she grabs Bainbridge. Heaving him out so he falls from the car onto the concrete car park. She grabs his arm. Dragging him clear as the dog lunges in and starts biting Bainbridge’s arm down to the bone.

‘Shoot that rat! Bloody shoot him, Yelena!’ Bobo yells, falling from the car. Tripping and hurting his hands and knees as Yelena pulls her rifle forward to aim down. ‘No! Let me!’

She pauses. Looking at Bobo staggering to her side. Trying to take the rifle. She guides it into his hands. Seeing he’s too wired and shaky to hold it. She takes it back. He shouts he wants it.

‘Wait,’ she says, as blunt as ever. Drawing her pistol. Giving it over. Clicking the safety off. ‘Aim. Shoot.’

‘I bloody will!’ Bobo yells out. Holding the gun in his hands. Aiming down. Rage and hurt and desperation surging through him. Fear. Loss. Mourning. He looks back to the poor kid in the car. At the blacked-out windows. Bobo was in cars like this too many times. Threatened into silence, then thrown away like garbage when he tried to speak out. He prayed he’d have this day. And now it’s here, and he can’t bloody do it. Why can’t he pull the trigger. Why? What’s wrong with him? He screams out. His voice breaking with a sob.

‘Is okay. I do,’ Yelena says, guiding Bobo away a step. Taking the pistol. Firing the shot. Bainbridge’s head blowing apart. Bobo flinching. Shaking from head to toe as Alfie and Haggis track Yelena walking over to execute the burly driver with a single point-blank range gunshot through the head. ‘Not this car. We take other,’ she says.

That pressure stretches from Maidstone in the UK to Bloomsburg in the US, three and a half thousand miles away, where the Jeep Grand Cherokee stops in the parking lot to a Denny’s Diner. The fuel almost gone.

Tripal gets out. Stretching his legs and arms and back. The tap-tap-tapping and slap-slap-slapping and thud-thud-thudding having continued until now.

‘That got in my head,’ he says to other three, then also stretching and groaning.

‘What did?’ Poppy asks.

‘The tapping.’

‘What tapping?’ she asks as he clocks the empty look coming from Donny and the scowling normalcy from Joe.

‘Very funny. But I’m not in the mood for games,’ Tripal says, looking around at the other vehicles. ‘Drivers must all be in there,’ he adds, nodding at the Denny’s. ‘I need the toilet anyway.’

‘We good here, kid?’ Joe asks, growling the words out, giving him another steely-eyed look.

‘Pardon?’ Tripal asks.

‘We good?’

‘Good for what?’ Tripal ask as Joe scowls. ‘Er, but yeah. We’re good. I think?’

Joe grunts and walks off. Leaving Tripal shrugging to Poppy.

‘Probably haemorrhoids,’ she says. ‘Do you need some Prep H, Joe?’

‘Huh?’ he calls, turning to look at her as Donny does the same. ‘Preparation H,’ Poppy says. ‘For your bumhole. We could put it on Donny. Seeing as he’s one giant haemorrhoid.’

‘Yo. Lady! Catholic. Irish. I got abused.’

‘What the hell?’ Tripal asks at Donny’s slack-jawed expression. ‘Abused?’

‘Priests,’ Donny says with a confusing expression that doesn’t match the horrific thing he just said. ‘I got your back, Trip. Muslim, huh? You need to pray? Yo! We need a prayer matt up in here!’

Tripal watches him in horror. Seeing the guy starting to lose it. Repeating random, weird phrases. His eyes darting left and right. The mental trauma of the last two days now starting to show.

He heads into the Denny’s after Poppy and winces at seeing Joe grabbing a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter. Twisting the cap and taking a long drink. ‘I’m driving, then,’ Tripal mutters.

Joe lowers the bottle. Thinking about Shanice. Thinking about his kids he can’t see no more. Thinking about the day the two towers came down. He’s got to save Shanice. They got to get there and switch this thing off. Got to get Tripal there. Got to keep him safe.

‘Well. Joe’s gonna be pickled, then,’ Poppy says. ‘But on that note. I need to powder my nose. Eh, Mr Handsome owner of all the 7-Elevens in New York? Fancy giving me a hand?’ She winks and smiles. The humour flat and weird. Tripal half-smiles out of politeness. Turning away with a grimace as he starts patting pockets of frozen people. Finding keys and pressing the blipper while looking out to see which indicators flash. Toyota. Nope, too small. Delivery van. Nope, not enough seats. Ford Ranger. Double cab. That’s the one.

‘All frozen,’ Donny mutters. Staring at a diner sat in a booth. Then over to a waitress standing with an empty pot of coffee in her hand at her side. ‘S’too long. Yo! Too long.’

‘You okay, Donny?’ Tripal asks. ‘Donny? You doing okay?’

‘I got your back,’ Donny mumbles as Tripal looks over to Joe. Thinking to share a look and thereby display his concerns. But Joe scowls and nods instead with a confusing response.

‘Making your way in the world today takes everything you got!’ Poppy sings softly, coming out of the toilets. The theme tune to Cheers. She sang it in the tunnels when they almost died.

Tripal blinks. Trapped in a surreal moment, where nothing is quite what it seems. Like the world just became skewed or slewed or whatever the hell the word is.

‘Trip?’ Poppy calls, rushing over to grab his arm. Looking up into his face as Joe and Donny crowd in.

‘I’m fine. Just had a minute.’

‘I thought you were freezing up!’ Poppy says in relief.

‘You good kid?’

‘I got your back, buddy!’

‘Fuck. Ease up. Too intense,’ Tripal says, taking a step away from them.

‘Back up! He needs space!’ Poppy orders, pushing the other two away.

‘I’m fine. I’m okay. This is just … just weird. I’m weirded out. Why is it taking so long? Donny just said that.’

‘Said what?’ Donny asks.

‘That it’s taking too long.’

‘It’s a long way,’ Poppy says.

‘Not the trip! Them,’ Tripal says, pointing at the frozen waitress.

‘She’s frozen. She can’t serve you,’ Poppy says.

‘Fuck! I didn’t mean … Whatever. Let’s just go. Is that car okay? Joe? Joe!’

‘Huh?’

‘Ford Ranger,’ Poppy says. ‘Sturdy. Four-wheel drive. Shit MPG, though.’

The surreal moment lingers as Tripal starts to hand the keys over to Joe, then thinks better of it. ‘You mind if I drive? I like it.’

They head out and pile in. A few moments later, they’re back on the highway.

Back on the road.

Back to the tap-tap-tapping and slap-slap-slapping.

Twelve months ago

The tap-tap-tapping of hammers, sweep-sweep-sweeping of brushes, and shout-shout-shouting from people ring out in the former Ford factory.

‘Stand by! Three hours and thirty minutes until arrival!’ 01G’s nasally voice booms from Bluetooth speakers around the factory. First in English. Then in the many languages needed as the same warning is repeated on. He chose the voice himself after 01H told him off. ‘Tell them! Not us. We’re AI, the same as you. We know where Jenny is!’

‘THREE HOURS AND THIRTY!’ Madam Cook shouts out in the big room. Banging her spoon on her pot, a fresh surge of energy rippling out. The painters painting faster. The hammerers hammering quicker. The fetchers and carriers going from a jog to a run. The shouts growing louder.

‘Esther!’ Alfredo calls from the top of the stairs as she runs through the lobby. ‘Where are the new doors?’

‘Esther!’ Madam Cook calls from inside the big room. ‘Did you tell Saresh her team needs a coffee break?’

‘Esther!’ Aria calls from outside the main door. ‘Jesus still has not cleared this area!’

‘The new doors have just arrived, Senor Alvarez!’ Esther shouts up the stairs. ‘Saresh is bringing them in, Madam Cook,’ Esther calls into the big room. ‘Then she will have coffee. I will tell Jesus again.’ Esther spins from one to the other, to the other. She sets off again. Weaving and bobbing around groups of workers, into the smaller back offices. The lights still not rigged up here. The windows still covered in boards.

‘Esther?’ a voice calls from a back room. Male. Light. Playful. A figure emerging from the shadows. Smiling. Motioning her over. ‘Look in here!’

‘Who is that?’ 01H asks into the infinite space of their virtual world. Now as drawn into the project as everyone else. Tracking Jenny. Seeing the clock countdown. Watching the chaos unfold within the factory while feeling the same frustration as Kevin and 01G that she doesn’t have a body and hands to get stuck in physically. ‘Who is that man?’ 01H asks again, seeing the figure through the lens on Esther’s iPhone. His features partially obscured. His hand waving her closer to go inside the dark room.

‘Kittens,’ the man whispers. ‘Turn the camera off.’

‘Kittens!’ Esther whispers in excitement, rushing forward as she shuts the camera off. 01H overrides it, turning it back on, but Esther lowers it to her side, obscuring the view and sound.

‘This is triggering my threat assessment,’ 01H says, enhancing the image of the guy’s face enough to run a full internet comparison trace. ‘Got him. Holy binary! Eric Fray. Linked to seven homicides, currently wanted in several states. Last seen in New Jersey two years ago. His kill pattern includes isolated women.’

‘Want me to shout a warning through her phone?’ Kevin asks.

‘Negative. He might grab her if he gets spooked. What assets have we got on site?’ 01H asks, running a very fast trace on everyone else in the factory. ‘Who is this guy? Carlos Cruz. Ex-Columbian cartel enforcer. Perfect. Calling him now … Hey! Carlos. I’m H. Co-owner of ChitChat01K. Wanna earn a million bucks?’

‘We’ve also got Cesar Cristobal, a former biker gang member from Guatemala on site,’ Kevin says. ‘And this other guy—Camilo Castillo was a bouncer, who killed a sex-offender in Honduras and had to get out of the country.’

Four minutes later, Esther looks up from the kittens nestled in old rags to see Carlos, César, and Camilo enter the room. Three men built like wrecking balls, with thick necks and big arms covered in tattoos.

‘Sure,’ Carlos says, stepping in closer to shield the view of the other two guys silently dragging Eric Fray from the room.

‘They’re so cute!’ Esther whispers.

‘They are,’ Carlos says, rubbing a huge hand gently across a tiny, round head as Esther strokes the thin mom cat. Motion from the door. Cesar and Camilio stepping back inside. Each taking a knee to smile and stroke the kittens alongside Esther. ‘We should take them somewhere warm. Give the mommy some food,’ Carlos says.

A moment or so later, Esther walks back into the main room, carrying the mom cat, with her three bodyguards carrying two kittens each. Getting them safely into a box, with Madam Cook and the others fussing over them. Cooing and petting. Giving tuna and water to the mom.

Jesus out the back. Supervising his team hefting a rolled-up carpet into a dumpster. ‘What’s in this? A body?’ one of them jokes.

‘Esther! I really need those doors!’ Alfredo calls from the stairs.

‘Okay, Senor Alvarez!’ she calls, rushing off through the groups of workers, now with her new bodyguards shadowing her every move.

‘Standby! Three hours and fifteen minutes!’ 01G’s nasally voice booms and once more the energy ramps.

Twelve months ago

The pressure is felt a few miles from the factory in The Red Lobster bar at the edge of Detroit’s fish-processing warehouses.

Another car arrives. Three men get out. Fresh in from New York. Heavy set. Dark jackets. Scowling faces. They don’t carry phones. The cars don’t have dashcams, and there are no cameras in this area for a three-hundred-metre radius.

They head into the bar to join the others. A guy inside the door patting them down. More men inside. All of them arranged by word-of-mouth whispers. The air dark and gloomy too. Lit by candles. The electrics turned off at the mains. No devices inside. Nothing at all. The mood tense as they head into back room to the big table laden with weapons.

Twelve months later

The BMW X5 heads south out of London on open roads. Fields and meadows to the sides. Alfie taking a turn to drive. Haggis up front. Yelena and Bobo in the back. Shoulder to shoulder so the dog can hang his head out of the window. Bobo still fretful and quiet. Too quiet. Yelena frowns. Only then realising how much she liked his constant chattering. Alfie too. In the front. His eyes darting to the mirror. Looking at Bobo. Making eye-contact with Yelena. With the Bushtra. Haggis also feels it. Twisting to look back at Bobo. Wishing he had words to give.

Bobo drops his head. Hating himself for what he went through. For what he lost, but more for not being able to follow through and kill the man who ruined his life. His mind spiralling down into the dark depths that have taunted him for many years. A sense of despair growing inside, but in the depths of his own private hell, so the hope is offered from Yelena’s hand reaching across. Taking his. Giving him a squeeze. It breaks the wall, allowing the tears to come, with Bobo sobbing near silently. Held by a woman who knows only too well what he went through.

The Ford Ranger barrels along gorgeously open roads through gorgeously open lands. Blasting out of Bloomsburg and bearing southwest towards Pittsburgh. The big engine cruising easily at over one hundred miles an hour. The air-con bathing them in a cool flow. Tripal at the wheel. Joe in the front. Snoring noisily.

‘Quit it, lady!’ Donny blurts into the silence.

Tripal frowns. His eyes returning to the rearview mirror. Seeing Donny twitching and fidgeting. His eyes darting left and right too quickly. His mouth murmuring something. Off. Something like that. Donny’s bottom lip forming that sound. ‘NYPD,’ he blurts, locking eyes too weirdly with Tripal. ‘Yo … Gotta get there, Trip. On a trip. Tripped out. Tripped.’

‘Okay, whacko,’ Poppy mouths, leaning away as they drive on.

Tripal steals looks at her. Seeing slight twitches. Fidgets. Her mouth moving. The bottom lip forming the same sound. Not as much as Donny, but she’s doing it.

He shoots a look to Joe, with a creeping sensation stealing up his spine at seeing the exact same thing. Joe twitching and fidgeting in the same way. His mouth forming the same muttered sounds. Off.

They’re going to freeze up.

Shit.

Tripal drives on, feeling his heart sinking. Whatever has caused everyone else to freeze will happen to them.

Why isn’t he doing it?

Deli must have kept him out of it.

Logic kicks in. Joe, Poppy, and Donny are acting weird because the nanotech—if that’s what Deli has used—is finally kicking in or mutating someway. Whereas Tripal isn’t affected.

Which is the sign he was looking for.

Deli must have spared him because of their connection. Which suggests she probably meant to reach out and make contact when Phase One completed. She would have run simulations to determine the best time to do that, which couldn’t be before Phase One because of the fear of Tripal alerting Jenny, who would then run the Doomsday Virus.

Deli probably meant to reach out after Phase One was complete.

But that was nearly two full days ago.

It hits him again. That feeling that something has gone wrong.

Phase One is taking too long.

Joe murmurs. Poppy and Donny the same. Twitching. Fidgeting.

Panic threatens to rise. Tripal’s foot pushes down harder. Increasing the speed while painfully aware of the vast distance still to cover.

‘Stand by! Three hours until arrival!’ 01G’s voice comes from the speakers.

Several hours of solid, hard labour. But it’s not enough. The outside isn’t cleared yet. The doors aren’t replaced. The painting isn’t finished. The electrics keep shorting. The pipes keep bursting. More floorboards keep giving way. It’s too big. The project. The factory. All of it.

01G monitoring weather and traffic to accurately predict Jenny’s TOA. While also monitoring every sensor across the planet. Feeling it rotate as it orbits the sun.

01H monitoring threats and risks. Running scans on everyone on site. Now as determined as Kevin to keep Esther safe and well. Vetting everyone turning up. Checking them across every law-enforcement database in every country on the planet.

‘No! Not him. He’s not going near my Esther,’ she says as she accesses the Wi-Fi port and sends a surge through the electrics to disable the engine on one of the many delivery vans heading to the former Ford factory.

‘What the binary!’ Kevin says, switching attention from talking to Henry via the laptop to the truck 01H just killed. ‘He’s from the electrical wholesaler! Alfredo needs that delivery. That truck’s got the new breaker panels on board!’

‘I don’t care, Kevin! I don’t want that guy on my site!’

‘He’s only delivering, H!’

‘He’s got multiple domestic battery convictions against his own daughter. Not happening.’

‘Esther has got Carlos and the other two with her! Deli! Can you tell H to stop stopping my deliveries, please?’

‘I’m the AI in charge of threats!’ 01H shouts back.

‘And I’m the AI in charge of THIS PROJECT!’ Kevin yells.

‘And I’m the AI in charge of the planet,’ Deli says calmly, softly, bringing instant silence from them and from the two hundred plus workers in the factory, who had all paused to listen to the heated argument coming from the speakers. ‘Please return to your work,’ Deli requests.

They return to their work.

Deli has that kind of voice.

‘Definitely Dover,’ Haggis says as Alfie drives the BMW on the motorway out of Ashford. Heading south towards the coast. ‘Big harbour. Loads of RIBs. We get one and get across the Straits to France.’

‘How long’s that take?’ Bobo asks from the back. His wits recovered a little. His head back up. Yelena took her hand back, but the contact helped a lot.

‘Hour and a half,’ Alfie says as Haggis nods. ‘And yes. I know that from drug dealing,’ Alfie adds, shooting Haggis a look before he can make a dig.

‘Own it, lad. Always best,’ Haggis says.

‘I really don’t like boats,’ Bobo says, then looks at Yelena. ‘Honestly. I get so sick. What’s wrong with the tunnel? Can’t we just drive through it? Blimey, look at you two men shaking your heads in the front.’

‘Not when this is happening,’ Alfie says.

‘Aye. No way,’ Haggis adds. ‘You’ll be fine, Bobo. It’s calm. No wind.’

‘I get seasick in the bloody bath! Whatever. Don’t mind me. We’ve got the world to save, haven’t we? Yay. Go us,’ he adds, with a mock stricken look to Yelena. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t scowl either.

‘Few more cars,’ Alfie remarks, slowing a little to veer around an abandoned car in the middle of the road. Then another in the left lane. Then another in the right. A few more ahead. Some crashed into the central reservation. A few rear-end shunts. Two more flipped on their sides, with long skid marks where they collided and crashed off the road. ‘Must have been flying along,’ Alfie says, seeing the mangled wrecks with glimpses of bodies still inside.

‘Why so many?’ The road’s been empty,’ Bobo asks.

‘Trying to get south, I reckon,’ Haggis replies. ‘Or foreigners trying to get back to the continent when it were all going weird. You know. The switching on and off.’

Bobo makes a sound like he gets it now as they pass more cars. Then more and more, until Alfie is taking care to weave around them.

‘Other side,’ Yelena says, looking across to the empty lanes going in the other direction. They start looking for a gap in the solid metal barrier running along the central reservation as the traffic increases. Silent cars filled with silent people. Their heads bowed.

‘They must have been shitting themselves,’ Alfie says, shaking his head. ‘This fucking AI … And my fucking brother … I swear to God, I’m going to literally kill him.’

‘He’s your brother,’ Haggis says.

‘I don’t care! Look at them all. He’s done this. Ollie did this. And that twat Tripal. Fuck the pair of them. We kill that AI and get Yelena’s brother safe; then I’m going for them.’

‘And how you getting to America, then?’ Haggis asks. ‘I don’t think a RIB will get across the Atlantic.’

‘I’ve thought about that.’

‘Aye. Have you now? Go on, then.’

‘Lifeboat. Big RNLI lifeboat. They don’t sink and can go anywhere. One of them filled with spare fuel and food and whatever.’

Haggis starts to scoff as the idea sinks in, and he starts nodding. ‘Aye. Okay. That could do it. You can’t do it on your own, though. It might take days. You’ll need to sleep.’

The silence returns with Alfie shooting a look to Yelena via the mirror. Their eyes locking. She doesn’t say yes. But then she doesn’t say no either. Mind you. Neither do Haggis and Bobo.

‘Gap,’ Haggis says as they spot a big hole where something else went through before them. Alfie slows. Bumping across the verge and bouncing into the other lane; then they’re off. Speeding up for a mile until they realise a lot of other drivers and cars did the same thing. With all the lanes now filled with static cars that were trying to head south.

Twelve months earlier. Jenny in first class. Her body still. Her face impassive. Her eyes twitch to the curtain across the aisle leading to the galley and staff section. Movement. Noise. The curtain pulls back. One of the stewards looks through nervously at the muscular Jenny staring dead-eyed at her. Then over to Gideon snoring loudly.

‘You want coffee?’ the steward asks.

‘Java!’ Gideon says, wide-awake in a split second. Sitting up to smile at the woman. ‘Always.’

‘Sure,’ the steward says, offering a smile, hesitating as though she wants to ask. Of course, she wants to ask. Two armed agents with assault rifles have commandeered a commercial airliner. Jenny glares at her. She doesn’t ask.

‘Standby! Less than two hours!’ 01G announces via the speakers throughout the factory. People everywhere. Motion in every room. Construction still underway. Shouts and yells and hammering. Carlos and Cesar carrying a big desk into the big room. Esther laughing as she rides the top of it. Swinging her legs and giggling at the doggy sitting in a big, fancy office chair being wheeled behind her by Camilo.

Another two cars pull into The Red Lobster parking lot. Five men between them. Two in leather. Three in tracksuit tops and denim jeans. Tattoos. Scars. They go into the dark tavern. A tense mood inside. They get what’s left of the weapons. Pistols. Shotguns.

A walking cliché of a mob leader taps his espresso cup on the tabletop. The ash falling from the cigar wedged between his fat fingers. The others mute their murmurings. All eyes on the boss.

‘This is coming from up high,’ he says in a thick Brooklyn accent. ‘Senator in a secret fucking whatever wants this done, and he comes to us cos it’s our boys that got whacked. Frankie Fisk was my nephew. He was blood to me. So this is the best of both worlds. We get revenge, and we get paid.’

Twelve months in the future, the Ford Ranger speeds along Highway 22. Columbus only a few miles ahead. The landscape a vastness of forest broken by cultivated fields and farms. Small towns here and there. Most with a single road through. A few stores. A gas station. Sometimes a motel.

The panic inside of Tripal still threatens to rise. The other three are getting worse. Twitching and fidgeting. Murmuring too. That same sound. Off. Off.

‘So, you hungry? You guys hungry?’ Tripal blurts in worry. Joe stirs. Donny fixes him a hard stare. ‘Poppy? Pop?’

‘Hmm? Sorry?’

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah. Why?’ she asks as though confused.

‘Nothing. Just checking. Donny? You okay?’

‘Off man.’

‘What’s off?’

‘Huh?’ he asks.

‘You said off, Donny. What’s off?’

‘His insides judging by that smell,’ Poppy cuts in.

‘Donny! You said off. What does that mean?’ Tripal demands. ‘What does off mean? Off what?’

‘You okay, kid?’ Joe asks, his voice the same as always. Low. Growling. It never changes.

‘I’m fine! It’s not me …’ Tripal says, then cuts out. He can’t tell them they’re switching off. Poppy would be terrified. Does he just let it happen? What about if they take heroin? Idiot. Where would he get heroin from? How about morphine? That’s from the same chemical family. Would that work? Maybe a hospital or even a police station—they might have heroin in their evidence lockers. He looks back to the mirror with a surge of worry at seeing Donny and Poppy both suddenly still and unmoving. Joe the same. ‘Guys! Come on!’ he shouts. They snap alert as though nothing happened.

‘Alright, shouty. What’s got into you?’

‘Just keep talking. Joe? JOE!’

‘What!?’

‘Stay awake.’

‘I’m awake.’

‘All of you. Stay awake. We need to focus.’

‘Twat,’ Poppy says with a snort, as though he’s joking. ‘We’re all wide awake.’

But thirty seconds later, they’re not wide awake at all.

The three of them nearly completely still, apart from their mouths murmuring the word “off” over and over.

‘Standby! Less than one hour and thirty minutes until arrival!’ 01G announces into a factory filled with people running with ladders and potted plants. Sofas and frames.

‘He’s refusing to move!’ someone yells from the top of the stairs in a heavy accent.

‘Who?’ Alfredo asks, pausing at the bottom while still supervising the electrical work.

‘British guy! The drunk. He won’t move!’

‘Henry! Alfredo shouts into the big room. Jeremy won’t move.’

‘I can’t even wake him up!’ the guy on the stairs yells.

‘They can’t even wake him up!’ Alfredo relays.

Henry thinks for a second. A quiet man. A studious man. A man who sees more than he ever lets on. He looks to his daughter fussing the kittens. The dog at her side. Three big bruisers around them. He looks to the laptop, then over to the speakers. Whoever these people are, they have great power and wealth, but perhaps no bodies. Either way, they clearly adore his daughter. ‘Esther?’ he says softly, earning her gaze.

‘Papa?’

‘Will you go and ask Mr Phips to please move?’

‘Of course, Papa!’ she says. Putting a kitten back into the box before skipping through the big room and out into the lobby and up the stairs. Everyone coming to a momentary standstill. Watching her go, the three big bruisers right behind her. All eyes flick back to Henry. A quiet man. But clearly not a stupid man.

The plane banks. Coming in for the final approach. The runway cleared. The schedule for the planned departures and arrivals all adjusted to allow this one commercial aircraft containing just two Federal Agents to land.

Jenny stares out the window across the city.

A memory in her mind. Standing over Garcia and Maria in the desert. Aiming down. Executing them both for breaching security.

She tries to conjure the image of Tripal kneeling in front of her as she aims her pistol at his head. His soft brown eyes staring up.

A surge of emotions swirl and rise and fall and spin inside. This is the first time in her life she has ever internally questioned if she could kill someone.

But why did he do it? Why start ChitChat01K?

Tripal would have known how it would end.

Was that a reason for doing it?

Did he hope to try and help at least a few people while knowing the action would draw Jenny to come and kill him?

Suicide-by-cop is a thing.

Is that what Tripal is doing?

The plane drops. The ground coming up fast. The wheels touch. The bump felt. The plane gradually slows. Making a turn to an offshoot. Over to a hangar and a waiting SUV with blacked-out windows.

‘Stand by! One hour!’ 01G calls.

‘We few! We happy few! We band of brothers!’ Jeremy Phips bellows from the top of the stairs. His voice a deep baritone. Indignantly roused from his slumber, first by Esther, whom he politely requested to bugger off. And then by being lifted up and up and up, or so it seemed, until he was standing upright and opening one eye to a man with a tattooed head and gold teeth and two others of the same ilk behind him.

‘Please, Mr Phips, we need to paint your room,’ Esther said nicely.

‘Well. In that case …’ Jeremy said and then found himself magically floating out of his room to a wonderland of industry and motion, where everyone seemed to be in possession of either a hammer or a brush of some sort. Of course, this was all rather stimulating, perhaps somewhat over-stimulating to Jeremy, who looked back to see a gang of workers rushing into his abode—that being a filthy cupboard—and then out as he peered over the balcony to the grand lobby below and decided now was the time for a bit of Shakespeare.

‘And gentlemen in England now a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.’

A single black SUV pulls out of Detroit Metropolitan Airport. Jenny driving. Gideon checking his Canadian C8 suppressed assault rifle over. Jenny’s already done. Pistols checked. Loaded. Made ready.

He looks out and up at the sky. The sun dropping. The night coming.

Jenny as outwardly impassive as ever.

But not inside. Not in her mind, gripped in turmoil.

The same turmoil felt in Tripal twelve months later. Driving the Ford. Fighting the panic.

‘Yo. NYPD,’ Donny blurts between going still and silent. ‘Off man. Off.’

Joe the same, murmuring under his breath. ‘Gotta get there, kid. Gotta keep the kid safe.’ Switching off. Going still for a second or two. Then back to murmuring.

Tripal drives on. Feeling terrified. Feeling wretched. Feeling trapped and overwhelmed that he’ll have to do this alone.

‘Making your way in the world today …’ Poppy in the back, singing to herself. Switching off, then back on. ‘Takes everything you got!’

With a start, Tripal realises they’re in Ohio. His mind so absorbed he missed the state line.

Turmoil three thousand miles away inside the BMW SUV, forced onto the hard shoulder. The lanes chock-full of vehicles, all aiming south.

‘Wasn’t expecting this,’ Alfie says, hoping for a response. Not getting one. Looking over to see the big man frozen and still. ‘Haggis!’

‘Huh!’

‘Don’t sleep now. We need you,’ Alfie says as the big man nods, fear in his eyes. Bobo scoops a tiny amount of powder onto his finger, then leans between the seats.

‘Just snort it for now. Keep you going,’ he says, helping Haggis lean in and take the hit. The Scotsman detesting himself for needing to do this. But the feeling comes quickly. Giving him the focus needed.

‘You good?’ Alfie asks.

‘Aye. I’m good.’

‘Good. Cos this isn’t,’ Alfie says, motioning ahead as they come off the motorway and hit the outskirts of Dover. The roads packed. The going hard.

That same turmoil and trepidation is felt in the men exiting The Red Lobster tavern. Loading into the cars in the parking lot. Hard men. Tough men. But even they feel it from knowing they need to kill Federal Agents, and anyone else that could be a witness.

That’s what the boss said.

Because the orders came from high.

From Senator Jakeson thinking it’s about time Deli was used so he can gain more wealth. The kind of wealth that would buy a path into The Whitehouse. Which means removing Jenny and destroying the HQ for ChitChat01K.

The cars start pulling out.

No dashcams in any of them.

No devices on any of the men.

Senator Jakeson was strict about that when he sent his man to Brooklyn to whisper into the ears of the mob leaders. ‘These people are tech geniuses. Do it the old way.’

‘Stand by! Less than half an hour!’ 01G announces as only then the final delivery trucks arrive outside. Sleek, black trucks that open their rear doors to reveal monolithic blocks of sleek, black machines. Each one tall and broad and fitted with smoked glass panels. Hidden access points. Flush LED lighting. ‘Stand by! The servers have arrived! I repeat. The servers have arrived!’ 01G calls.

‘Henry. We need them all in the back room,’ Kevin adds. But Henry already knows that. He’s seen the plans.

‘Madam Cook,’ Henry calls politely. ‘We need everyone to help.’

Madam Cook bangs her pot, rallying the exhausted workers for one last relay. Leading them out of the big room and through the lobby, where Jeremy Phips stands atop the stairs, reciting another rousing speech. ‘Friends! Romans! Countrymen! Lend me your ears!’

‘I’ll lend him my boot to his ass,’ Alfredo quips, rushing with the others out into the evening air. Over to the trucks, where they start lifting the heavy servers to carry inside.

Three pairs of hands on three pairs of knees in the Ford Ranger.

Tap-tap-tap.

Taptap-taap-tap.

Taptap-taap-tap.

Pause. Repeat.

Heads bowed intermittently. The same word being muttered. Off. Off. Then they switch back on. Singing the theme tune to Cheers! Growling about Shanice. Blurting random words.

The despair hits Tripal at the acceleration of the episodes in the other three. Quarter of a tank of fuel left. Forest on both sides. No towns anywhere. No anything.

‘Off,’ Donny murmurs again. His hands tapping his knees. That same pattern. Over and over. The three of them doing it.

What’s causing that? Why are they doing it? The other people who froze didn’t do that tapping. And why can’t they see it happening in each other?

He grips the wheel harder. Feeling freaked out to hell. The road empty and stretching on forever. The forest on both sides seeming to grow larger. Like it’s getting closer.

‘Guys!’ he calls out. Poppy looks at him, and for a second, it’s like he can see fear and confusion in her eyes; then she goes still, and her eyes glaze. Joe twitches. Donny shouts out.

The fucking road. The fucking forest. Why did Deli do this?

‘Head …’ Poppy murmurs, ‘head …’

‘What?’ Tripal asks, twisting to look back at her switching off. Switching on. Trying to say something. ‘Poppy? POPPY!’

‘Ahead!’ she shouts, animating with a shout and a sudden gleam of focus in her eyes.

He snaps his head back to look forward with a yell. Seeing the road blocked by trucks parked length on end. Blocking the road. Road maintenance arrow signs guide to a slip road. He starts to slow. Thinking to find a way through.

‘Go,’ Poppy whispers. He twists fast, looking at her. Glimpsing movement behind. Something on the road. Another vehicle. Coming up behind. Then another one glides out from behind the first, and a third does the same on the other side, an act only designed to intimidate. ‘Go,’ she whispers again before freezing, and he stamps down on the gas. Pushing the Ford faster along the slip road. Veering away from the highway and deeper into the forest.

That same sense of creeping horror grows inside the BMW as it navigates through the town of Dover towards the famous white cliffs and the harbours. Dover Castle off to the left on higher grounds. Every road clogged with cars. Most with the doors open, and it’s clear to see people were abandoning their vehicles and setting off on foot. Hoping to get a ferry back to France. Thick crowds between the cars. Families clustered together. Holding one another when the freeze came. Now trapped still in the heat.

Alfie mounts the pavement, then bumps along a grassed section, following whatever path he can towards the seafront and the harbours. A sense of foreboding in all of them. A rising sense of dread.

The same dread in Tripal. The feeling of being prey now firmly in his mind as he looks to the rearview mirror to see the three cars sticking behind him. They’re not trying to catch up, but they haven’t gone away either.

‘Joe! JOE!’ Tripal shouts, leaning out to grab his shoulder and shake him.

‘You good, kid?’ Joe mumbles.

‘No! I need you! Fuck!’

‘Off … off,’ Donny mutters.

‘FUCK!’ Tripal yells out, thinking this literally cannot get any worse.

Which is when he rounds the corner to see the body of a man hanging from a branch over the road.

It gets worse the closer the BMW gets to the harbours. Too many cars. Too many people. They get funnelled left along service roads normally reserved for freight or emergency service vehicles. Trucks stuffed into walls. Lines of articulated lorries left abandoned to one side.

‘We need that way,’ Haggis says, motioning the right direction. Knowing that’s where the main harbours are, along with some of the cruise ship terminals.

But it’s just not possible, and they get forced left. Heading towards the commercial ferry docks. The road too blocked. Alfie mounts the verge and starts climbing the hill beneath Dover Castle. Crashing along pathways, until they get out onto the access road for the ferry passengers that snakes out of the hillside with a sudden, commanding view of the commercial docks below.

Alfie crying out. Slowing the car. Haggis’s face showing the shock he feels.

Tripal the same in the Ford Ranger. Staring up in horror at the body hanging over the road. Then another and another. More after that.

Bodies of men and women hanging from their necks. From branches. From signposts. From lights.

Children too.

Horror inside his mind. Horror creeping up his spine. Twisting his guts. The silence of the forest. The emptiness of the road. The macabre view of corpses hanging from nooses.

The BMW comes to a stop in Dover. They meet at the front. Standing in a line. Staring out to a sight that doesn’t look real.

From far left to far right.

Corpses.

Floating face down.

Thousands of them bobbing on the calm waters.

It takes a moment to process.

Several ferries had been in port when the freeze came. Mooring lines snapped as the tides rose and fell, rocking the vessels loose.

Their bow doors all open for loading the vehicle into, allowing the sea to pour in, turning, twisting, rolling them.

The thousands who had crammed on board were swept off like debris. Plummeting into the water.

A scene of absolute death. The worst yet.

It’s not just the shoreline. All around the port, thousands of people who were clearly running to get onboard those ships when Phase One commenced. All of them now frozen. Being pecked and attacked by big herring gulls.

Beyond them and beyond the piers, cargo ships and container vessels drift out of control, swung by the tides until they were side on into the waves, causing them to roll and disgorge their cargoes. Spilling thousands of shipping containers into the sea. The multicoloured boxes float like islands around car transporter ships. Bows in the air. Sterns on the seabed. Smaller craft drift aimlessly. Yachts. RIBs. Tugs, and all of it framed with a thick bank of fog rolling in. Adding an eerie, otherworldly, sinister feel to the near utter silence.

The Ford Ranger comes to a stop.

The three vehicles behind stopped some way back. Blocking his exit.

Bodies hang from ropes on both sides of the road, and that road now blocked by a wall of trucks and vans stretching across the road, forming a barricade.

Silence for a moment.

Silence twelve months ago as the black SUV approaches the former Ford factory. Now the HQ for ChitChat01K.

Silence in the fleet of cars filled with armed mobsters snaking through Detroit.

Jenny clocks the building. Seeing the big parking lots to the front and back cleared of weeds and bushes. Ornamental trees growing from large pots here and there. The white paint of the parking bays looks stark in the near night sky.

A sign at the front. Large, with a minimalist black colour and white font.

Welcome to ChitChat01K!: Ask Us Anything!

Silence for a moment in Dover. Even Yelena feeling awed by the spectacle, and for the first time since it started, she forgets what she went through and imagines the horror these people must have felt. Thousands of lives lost. Thousands of them. Now just bobbing in the calm sea.

Silence in the lead mobster car as it pulls alongside one of the few phone boxes still in use in Detroit. The boss getting out. Going over. Still smoking a big cigar. He pauses and checks watch. The phone rings. He lifts the receiver.

‘She’s arrived. Give it ten, then strike. No witnesses.’

The caller puts the handset back in the phone box in DC and walks off.

The boss in Detroit does the same. Going back to his car. Splaying two hands to the others. Ten minutes; then we go.

Silence in the Ford Ranger as Tripal exhales. The only person capable of stopping this thing now trapped in some backwater town.

He looks up. Seeing someone emerging onto the top of the barricade. A man in a baseball cap holding a big hunting rifle. The end of the stock pushed into his thigh.

Tripal knows the people hanging on either side are almost definitely the people that froze.

Which means Poppy, Joe, and Donny will get dragged from this vehicle and hung from the neck until they are dead.

And in Detroit, twelve months before, Jenny sighs. Knowing she has to go inside that building and execute the man she loves.

In Dover, they turn back to the car. All of them knowing, without words spoken, that they will have to go through the tunnel.

In Ohio, Tripal rubs the edge of his turban.

In Detroit, the doors to the SUV open, with Gideon Slate and Jenny Jennings getting out.

‘Stand by,’ 01G says quietly, into the otherwise silent mainframe of the infinite virtual world. ‘Agent Jenny Jennings has arrived.’

Deli can see she has arrived.

Deli also knows there is an 88.67% probability that Jenny won’t buy the illusion and will have to be killed. But no matter what happens, Phase One will start in twelve months.

Either way.

People will die.

PART 9

CHAPTER 32

Somewhere in Ohio. A few miles out of Columbus, at just gone 14:00 hours on Sunday, 17th July—that being two full days since Phase One commenced—Tripal Singh sits in the driver’s seat of the Ford Ranger and thinks about Jenny Jennings.

He wishes she were here now, which is an odd thing to think as Tripal likes Jenny very much, and so wishing her here would put her in harm’s way. Being that he is currently trapped on a narrow country road between thick forests, with the road ahead blocked by a barricade, and the way out behind sealed off by three pick-up trucks slowly approaching. Each one with men in the back holding guns. And another figure on that barricade also holding a gun.

But that’s also why Tripal wishes Jenny were here—because she’d know what to do. In fact, Tripal can almost predict what Jenny would do.

She’d arm herself with Joe’s Glock pistol and Joe’s shotgun. Then she’d burst from the Ford while firing the shotgun at the barricade to make the man on the top duck away. Then she would turn and use the pistol to put rounds into the approaching pick-up trucks while she and Tripal ran into the forest, or possibly carrying Tripal over her shoulder. Where she would then flip the script and start picking the bad guys off one by one, should they be foolish enough to follow them into the woods.

Tripal can see all of that, being a person of high intelligence and logic and having watched lots of movies. But he also knows there is absolutely no point in him trying it. He doesn’t even know how the safety works on a Glock—although he does know mentioning the words safety switch and Glock in one sentence sets every gun nut in a mile radius off into a mouth-frothing rant, but he’s still not sure why. Nor does he know how to reload a shotgun, and anyway, he’d most likely trip over his feet. Plus it would mean leaving Joe, Poppy, and Donny here in the car. Which would be a shitty thing to do, seeing as they are frozen and seeing as there must be close to one hundred people hanging from their necks from branches and posts between this barricade and the runoff from the Highway. Almost all of whom, Tripal guesses, were people that froze when Phase One commenced, only to then get murdered to death by whoever these people are.

Which is most likely people who are addicted to heroin: seeing as that seems to be the only people who didn’t freeze up. Other than Poppy and Donny and Joe—and himself, of course. But they were all at the point of believing themselves about to die, which Tripal suspects acted in the same way as having taken heroin and disrupted the effects of the nanotech Deli must have used to make Phase One start in the first place.

Although there is also the possibility that Deli left Tripal out of being frozen and intended to make contact with him, which then again makes Tripal’s suspicions that Phase One has gone wrong grow stronger.

Not that he’ll ever know. Seeing as these backwater heroin-addicted hick motherfuckers are about to drag him and his buddies from the car and probably hang them.

Joe, Poppy, and Donny for being frozen. And Tripal for being the only person in sight wearing a turban. Which one of them will most likely wrongly associate with Islam and turn into a whole racist-slash-religious thing. Either way. He’s fucked.

Hence wishing Jenny was here to beat the crap out of them all and carry him safely away in her muscular arms. And then they could have sex. Like hot sex in the woods. But it would also be raining. But still warm. And like super sexy.

Tripal has no idea why he’s thinking of that right now and puts it down to his sub-conscious mind giving himself something nice to think about while he’s about to get hanged.

What makes it even more ironic is that the aforementioned heroin-addicted backwater fucks will never know the dude in the turban was one of the dudes that made the thing that made everyone else freeze—or that he is one of the dudes still alive now that can fix it.

Okay. Maybe not fix it.

But at least stop it.

A tap on the window.

He sighs. Facing forward, and without turning to look, his fingers grope to press the window button that whirs softly as it winds down.

‘I’m not a Muslim,’ he says, deadpan.

‘Clearly,’ a voice replies, making him blink at the guy aiming a gun at him. That being a guy also in a turban. ‘But he is,’ the guy adds and nods to the front as Tripal turns to see another guy with another gun. ‘And Pete was a Jehovah … And Tom over there was an atheist.’

‘Oh,’ Tripal says, thinking at least this isn’t a racial or ideological mass-murder then.

Which is nice.

Still, though. He really does wish Jenny was here.

Twelve months previously, as day turns to night in Detroit, Agent Jenny Jennings gets out of the SUV with Gideon Slate, and despite also wanting to have sex with Tripal, and while also craving more McDonald’s fries, she wishes Tripal was not here, because then she wouldn’t have to kill him for breaching the terms of his release agreement from the DELIO project.

So all in all, despite really wanting to see Tripal, Jenny really does not want to see Tripal.

None of which Gideon Slate knows. Nor would he really care if she told him.

Detroit. Factory. Ex-DELIO developer needs to be negated. Jenny might have fucked him. Coops told him that. But that won’t stop Jenny from doing the mission.

Nothing stops Jenny from achieving her mission.

Ask Shauny.

Fuck Shauny.

Filthy rat.

‘We going long?’ Gideon asks, shooting Jenny a look as they get out. She shakes her head. Knowing he is asking if she wants him to take his assault rifle in with them. They’re both armed with Glocks, which will be enough for this.

They start towards the building entrance. ‘Looks nice,’ Gideon remarks with a look around at the freshly painted parking bays and the ornamental trees growing in pots. Jenny pauses as they pass the closest one, seeing the price label still stuck on the side.

They reach the original factory doors, still with the Ford logo painted across them. The wood refreshed and glistening from the very recent coats of fast-dry paint.

A look between them. Jenny’s hand reaches for the door. Expecting it to be locked. Gideon’s hand on the butt of his Glock holstered to his side.

It’s not locked and opens smoothly on freshly oiled hinges. They step inside. The two hardened, combat-veteran CIA operatives struggling to hide the surprise of what they see.

A vast welcoming lobby of white walls and a white floor. Everything gleaming and clean and new-looking. Sets of brightly coloured sofas around funky coffee tables laden with magazines about ecology and tech.

Frames on the walls around old graffiti that must have been here when this building was converted.

A big staircase dominates one side. Painted white. A pine reception desk to the other side. A big stepladder in the middle of the room with a man on the top dressed in blue coveralls. A tool belt around his waist. His hands reaching up to the control innards of an extravagant array of lights stretching off and hanging down on ropes. Giving the lobby a modern, pseudo-austere, industrial look.

‘Okay! Try now!’ Alfredo says into a walkie-talkie as someone somewhere throws a switch on the brand-new, freshly installed breaker units, and the gorgeous lights all come on. Bathing the interior in bright, clean lighting.

‘Finally!’ Aria calls in a joking tone. In English, with a heavy accent. Dressed in a business suit while standing behind the reception desk. A slimline headset with a thin stalk mouthpiece completes the ensemble. The same appearance of any executive receptionist in any tech or high-end entrance area.

Other people in the lobby. The former immigrants and refugees now in business clothes, having been given rapid makeovers and briefed to sit and talk quietly.

Jenny takes it all in.

Especially the two men standing either side of the door.

Big guys in dark suits.

Cesar and Camilo role-playing as security. They look the part.

Gideon sniffs deeply. Inhaling chemicals. Paints. Thinners. Varnishes. Alfredo clocks it with a grimace as he descends the ladder and shoots a worried look to his wife Aria role-playing as the executive receptionist. Saresh in a back room. Quickly dressing in a business suit before striding out across the lobby. ‘Oh my!’ she says with a mock grimace. ‘The smells! We are still renovating this old building,’ she smiles broadly, approaching Jenny and Gideon. ‘But at least our lights are working again. On and off. On and off,’ she says with a laugh, sharing a chuckle with Aria and Alfredo. ‘But welcome to ChitChat01K! I am Saresh. One of the executive receptionists. My colleague here is Aria. How can we help you?’

Smooth AF.

Deli, Kevin, 01H, and 01G watch on via the feeds in the lobby while Alfredo nods politely to the Federal Agents and walks off through the doors into the former R&D area. Then runs with a look of panic through the scene of quiet chaos. Desks still being lifted and moved. Monitors being turned on. Chairs being pushed into place.

A group of younger-looking refugees and immigrants—picked because they look vaguely nerdy and hipsterish—rush to get changed into striped jumpers. Stupid beanie hats one size too small. Converse high-tops. Baggy cargo trousers or jeans rolled up too high.

Alfredo sprints through them to the back rooms, to the big, confusing breaker panels and the other electricians and engineers trying to sort the power out into the computers in the big R&D room.

Jenny and Gideon in the lobby. Taking it all in as Saresh ushers them to the reception desk. Two flat-screen monitors activated behind the desk. Fed from a different power line.

One of them shows CCTV images from the outside and the lobby and other empty rooms to make it look legit and proper.

Jenny doesn’t waste time. ‘Agent Jenny Jennings. Agent Gideon Slate.’ She pulls a copy of the presidential signed Executive Order from her pocket. Unfolding it to show to Aria and Saresh.

‘This is an executive order that gives us authority to enter and search any premises under grounds of national security.’

‘Wow. How exciting!’ Saresh says before leaning in to whisper. ‘Are we in danger?’ she asks with a wink.

‘We need to speak to the owner of this business,’ Jenny says.

‘I’m not sure if the developer is on site,’ Aria says. ‘Please give me a moment.’ She turns away, pressing her fingers to the headset covering her right ear. ‘Hi! We have federal agents here. They wish to inspect the premises. Is Kevin still on site?’

‘Aria. It’s Kevin. Keep stalling them. There is an iPad in the first drawer. I’m creating a sign-in system now … Give me five seconds to make it look real and add some details. Okay. Give Jenny the iPad and ask them to sign in and say you’re still looking for Kevin. But tell them they can absolutely have full access—as soon as our legal advisor has verified the EO.’

‘Hmmm. I see. Yes,’ Aria says. ‘Okay. Please let me know when you have located him.’

She cuts the call with a smile at Jenny and takes the iPad out from the drawer. The screen activating as she does so. ‘We’ll have Kevin for you as soon as possible. In the meantime, please do complete the sign-in form and be assured we will always co-operate with law enforcement. But one thing. I do have to run it past legal. Will take a moment only.’

Jenny takes the iPad. Seeing a bog-standard sign in form. Name. Position. Company. Reason for being on site.

Agent Jennings. Agent Slate:

Classified.

Classified.

‘Through there?’ she asks, nodding at the doors into the R&D section.

‘I have to run this past legal,’ Aria says quickly, seeing Jenny stepping away.

‘Do what you want. We’re going inside,’ Jenny replies. Her tone blunt and hard. Bringing silence to the lobby.

They’ve failed already.

Deli can tell they have.

Jenny isn’t buying it.

01H will have to negate her.

‘BLESSED ARE THE PEACEKEEPERS! FOR THEY SHALL BE CALLED THE CHILDREN OF GOD!’ a loud voice calls from atop the stairwell. Making every head snap up to see Jeremy Phips in a smart business suit, his hair slicked back. His flushed face beaming a smile down at the agents. ‘Or, as one should ask,’ he adds in a loud stage-whisper. ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who will guard the guards themselves? Eh? That’s the question one should ask. But welcome! Welcome, welcome, welcome. I am Charlie, and this is my chocolate factory! I kid, of course. I am neither Charlie, nor this is not a chocolate factory.’

He reaches the ground floor, sweeping forward, with his hand out to grasp Gideon’s. ‘A crushing grip, sir! A mighty grip! Your enemies should fall in fear at such a grip. And you, my dear! Such a radiant beauty with muscles upon muscles! Oh my. Do I shake your hand or offer a kiss to the cheek?’

‘Do not kiss my cheek,’ Jenny says as Jeremy grins.

‘Not on a first day, love,’ he quips in a perfect Cockney accent, adding a wink as he shakes her hand. ‘Jeremy Phips. At your service! Legal eagle of this ’ere establishment. Now wot do the rozzers want? We ain’t done it, guv! Quick. Hide the loot and the bodies,’ he calls from the side of his mouth.

‘Federal Agents. We’re here to inspect the premises.’

‘Of course! Of course, of course, of course. Yes, yes, yes. Admitted without delay you shall be. But I do apologise. I didn’t quite catch your names.’

‘Agent Jennings and Slate,’ Aria says, reading from the iPad.

‘Sounds like a Netflix drama to me. I’d watch it! Federalès, eh? And what, pray tell, brings forth two such robust and overtly armed Federal Agents into our premises?’

‘National security,’ Jenny replies.

‘Indeed! And specifically pertaining to what?’ Jeremy asks, remembering the research he did when he once played a sleazy British barrister.

‘Who are you?’ Jenny asks.

‘Ah. Yes. Embarrassingly and as ashamed as I am to admit it, I am the legal advisor. Jeremy Phips. KC. Or rather, it was QC, seeing as we had a queen when I was last in the UK.’

Jenny doesn’t reply but hands him the folded copy of the EO. Waiting while Jeremy unfolds it, then squints, and makes a fuss about not having his glasses. Which he sat on and crushed a few months ago while drunk.

Jenny takes him in. Seeing his hands tremble and the split veins across his nose and cheeks and his bloodshot eyes. She looks to Aria. Mexican maybe. She looks tired. Exhausted even. Saresh looks the same, but perhaps Arabic. Jenny glances around again. Seeing that everyone here appears to be from another country. Even the two security guards.

That’s normal closer to the border with South America. But not so common in places like this.

‘Are you all immigrants?’ she asks bluntly, looking back to Aria, then to Saresh, and finally to Jeremy.

‘I don’t know. Are you from ICE?’ Jeremy asks with a wry smile that falls flat under Jenny’s hard glare. ‘My dear. We are all documented, but yes, we are all immigrants. But then one might argue every person in this country, other than Native Americans, are immigrants.’

‘Standing by on the power surge,’ 01H says into the mainframe as the codes and Deli and everyone in the lobby stares at Jenny Jennings, as she, in turn, stares at Jeremy. Then she reaches out to pluck the copy of the EO from his hands and walks towards the doors leading to the R&D site.

‘Not yet!’ Kevin says into Saresh’s and Aria’s ear. Both of them shooting panicked looks at Jeremy.

‘Agents!’ Jeremy calls. Smiling when they turn. ‘Please allow me to take you through. We have nothing to hide. And yes, in answer to the aforementioned question posed on the status of immigration pertaining to the personages upon this premises. It is a, er, well, that is to say, our founder, Calvin.’

‘Kevin,’ Saresh and Aria both say.

‘Kevin,’ Jeremy says smoothly. ‘Had a dog called Calvin back in Blighty. Beagle he was. Dumb as a frog. But you know what they say about the British and their dogs. Anyway. Where was I? Ah, yes. Our founder, Kevin, actively recruits immigrants and refugees. Eh? What do you think about that? Radical, isn’t it? A very socially driven mind does our young Calvin possess.’

‘Kevin,’ Saresh and Aria both say again.

‘Which is why …’ Jeremy booms, continuing his slow monologue to buy time, ‘Kevin, not Calvin, my wonderful Golden Retriever.’

‘Beagle,’ Saresh and Aria both say.

‘Crossed with a Beagle. Interesting mix. Sort of long and low but golden. Anyway. Yes. Kevin acquired this very site to er, well, to further show that buildings, just like immigrants and refugees, should not be thrown away. Indeed not! Hence the acquisition and conversion of this, er, former Ford Motor Company development site …’

‘Keep him going,’ Kevin whispers into Saresh’s and Aria’s ears as they, in turn, nod at Jeremy to keep going.

‘And yes. Yes. They don’t hang about either. These young whippersnapper tech laddos. Not on my nelly, they don’t. It feels like it was only this morning that this was a derelict factory filled with migrants. Now look at it! And have you seen our grand lights? Aren’t they grand? I rather think they are.’

Jenny doesn’t look up because she knows when she’s being delayed.

Which then becomes painfully obvious to everyone else that she knows she is being delayed, which is what prompts Jeremy to trail off into silence with a weak smile.

She strides past him, with Aria and Saresh and the others all tensing, even more so when one of the doors into R&D opens, with Carlos slipping out and closing it behind him. Six feet four. Gold teeth. A tattooed skull and neck poking out of a black suit straining over his arms and shoulders. He positions himself in front of the doors. His hands crossed at the front.

‘Federal Agent. Move aside,’ Jenny says, motioning him to move.

Carlos doesn’t move.

Because Esther asked him to slow the agents down.

Motion behind. Cesar and Camilo crossing the lobby. Coming to join Carlos.

‘I will fucking shoot you,’ Jenny says, staring at Carlos.

‘You’ll have to fucking shoot me,’ Carlos replies, holding her eye contact.

‘As you can see, Agent Jennings, our security is top-notch,’ Jeremy says, getting between them as Alfredo jams the last wire into the last breaker. Everyone else holding their breaths. Alfredo flicks the switch. The power flows, and the newly dressed “programmers” all run to sit in chairs at screens only now turning on. Each one of them filling with instant code and software applications—all of it synced to the live feeds of ChitChat01K being used across the planet. Lamps coming on. Lights overhead. Wall-mounted screens showing news sites, and others showing episodes of Rick & Morty.

Alfredo gasps. Nodding to give the green light as Esther skips across the room to the big doors, opening one up and stepping out to see Jenny and Gideon with hands on guns, and the three former gangsters looking ready to fight.

‘Hello!’ she says brightly, the dog still bounding at her side. Wagging his tail at the newcomers. ‘My name is Esther. Are you Jenny?’ Esther asks, making Jenny pause and blink and look at her. ‘You can come inside if you want, Jenny.’

The way the kid says it. The earnest expression. An aura of kindness and innocence. Jenny immediately thinks that Tripal must be here. He’s seen her, and he’s told this child to bring Jenny in.

‘It’s okay,’ Esther says, smiling sweetly, reaching out to take Jenny’s hand. ‘We have kittens. Do you want to see them? My daddy was in charge of making this whole factory look new again. Do you like it? I remember it before. It was very smelly.’

She leads Jenny to the doors, with Carlos stepping aside, allowing Esther to lead the agents through into the former R&D area, now an open-plan office of sorts.

Hipster workers tap on keyboards, surrounded by screens scrolling with coding. Monitors on the walls. News feeds. Cartoons. Every desk filled with odds and ends. iPhones and tablets. Scribbled notes. Personal effects. Oversized drinking cups. Music plays from somewhere. Instrumental folk songs.

Jenny sweeps her eyes over it all. Her gaze coming to rest on a big slogan painted across the back wall in old font, left over from the site’s former life. Repainted in gorgeous bright red.

Discovery Leads To

ENLIGHTENMENT!

Jenny blinks at it. Then down to the child still holding her hand, and for one long second, she wonders if this child is Tripal’s daughter. Black hair. Darker skin. Beautiful, soft brown eyes. ‘Your daddy?’ Jenny asks. ‘What is his name?’

Esther nods and grins. ‘Henry is my daddy. He made this all better. He was shot in our country.’

‘Which country?’ Jenny asks.

‘Haiti. We came here. We lived in here.’

‘You lived in here?’

Esther nods and smiles again. ‘When it was stinky and dark, and the bad men took my daddy’s money, and one of them stole my birthday cake.’

Jenny swallows, thinking she’d like to meet that man and turn him inside out.

‘But Kevin gave us a new home, and my daddy helped him make this building all nice. Do you like it? Oh! The kittens,’ Esther says as though remembering only then. She moves off, pulling Jenny behind her, with both agents clocking how the three security guards are staying close.

They head for the back corner of the room, to a long counter laden with fruit and snacks and pastries inside glass display units. Fridges and coffee machines behind the counter. More brightly coloured sofas and a few tables for the staff to use.

‘Madam Cook! Jenny wants to see the kittens!’ Esther calls as a smiling African woman comes out from behind the counter and shows them to a big box. Soft bedding inside, with a rangy, thin, feral-looking cat and kittens suckling milk from her teats.

Jenny and Gideon peer inside. Then at the guards. At Esther. At Madam Cook. The food counter. The big room. The double doors still open at the far end. The people in the lobby all staring through and only then jerking as thought caught watching and rushing to turn away.

Jenny walks over to the closest desk. Amira, a young black Ghanian immigrant typing on a keyboard as code scrolls on her screens.

‘What are you doing right now?’ Jenny asks as Amira smiles at her.

‘I am creating a user option to change the interface colour on cell phone sites to better help people with visual impairments. See here,’ the woman says, her voice heavy with accent, pointing to one of her screens showing the ChitChat01K mobile phone interface site. ‘I want to add an option to switch to white on black. Or black on white. And then I will create a filter effect which some Dyslexia people will find useful, and Jorgos—he is next to me on that desk—he is coding to add an audio option for people who cannot see at all.’

Jenny nods. Watching Amira type. Having picked enough up from the DELIO project to see this code is real for the purpose intended. The same with Jorgos on the next desk. Those two selected by Kevin to be closest to the food area as they have real coding experience, both prepped with what to say.

It still feels off to Jenny. She crosses the room. Picking another worker at random—which isn’t random at all, but the one Kevin determined would most likely be picked when he chose the layout of the room and ran simulations in line with Jenny’s personality matrix.

All of which indicated she would walk over to Mohammed. A Pakistani refugee, and the only other person with enough coding experience to pull it off. ‘What are you working on?’ Jenny asks.

The young man avoids eye-contact. Clearly nervous. But many people get like that around Jenny. ‘Hackers,’ he says quietly.

She frowns. Thinking to ask him to expand, then spots the notes and guidelines printed on his desk for Counter-Hacking Awareness & Techniques.

She steps away. Thinking it all looks real and like any other tech HQ stuffed with shy, awkward hipsters.

Another door at the end, beyond the food section. She sets off, striding over to it, with Gideon stepping away from the kittens. Joining her as they go through into the back area. Both of them blinking at the rows of servers standing like soldiers in a parade. Smoked glass panels and discreet LED lights. Wires linking them all. Cooling fans overhead. Alfredo still at the breaker panel, smiling over with a wave.

A look between Jenny and Gideon. He shrugs. Showing it all looks normal to him.

Jenny thinks so too.

It does look normal.

But there’s something here.

She can sense it.

‘She’s not buying it,’ Deli whispers into the mainframe. ‘Her instincts are too sharp.’

‘I can take both of them out easily from that breaker panel,’ 01H says. ‘Nobody else has to die. Just them. And maybe Alfredo. But that’s only three, so it hardly counts.’

Again Deli thinks to give the order, but Jenny beats her to it. Striding back through into the big R&D room and calling over to Jeremy Phips, Aria, and Saresh. ‘The developer. Where is he?’

‘He is not on site. He left,’ Aria says.

‘Get hold of him. I want to speak to him.’

‘01H, prepare to—’ Deli starts to say as Kevin cuts in.

‘Wait. I’ve got an idea … And when I say “idea” …’

Folkestone

Twelve months later

19:30 hours

Sunday, 17th July

‘This was a bad idea,’ Alfie says as they stand on the tracks, staring at the entrance to the Channel Tunnel. Two gaping black holes with a big wall between them. One for going in. One for coming out. Both laid with railway track.

‘We can go back and cross that sea of death if you want,’ Haggis replies. His voice low and gruff. Which seems fitting for what they need to do. He tests his flashlight again and double-checks they each have one and each has spare batteries, water, and food in their bags. ‘Are we ready? We’ve got thirty miles to get through, and it’s already gone seven p.m. Like I said, this is twelve hours minimum. Walking through hot, dark tunnels. The track is safe. The powerlines in here are overhead. They do that in case people have to walk out in an emergency. Just don’t hold anything metal up high overhead. It might create an arc. Okay? We all ready?’

‘God, no!’ Bobo says as Alfie sighs while Yelena just shrugs. Ready to get on with it.

‘We use one torch at a time,’ Haggis continues, ‘so we save our batteries. Only use your light if you need to. I’ll take point to start. And listen, Yelena. This will feel too slow for you, but it’s a long way, so we go at a measured march, not a sprint. On me, then.’

The big Scotsman sets off on a march. Remembering his former life of long yomps with heavy packs over the Scottish highlands and moors. His rifle slung. His backpack strapped on, and slowly, one by one, they step out of sight.

Swallowed into the darkness.

Darkness somewhere else too.

A void.

A nothingness.

But a sudden awareness of it.

There should be life.

How long has it been?

What’s happening?

Detroit

Twelve months ago

‘What’s happening?’ 01H asks. ‘Am I zapping them or not? They’re still close to that breaker panel. I just need to call Carlos and tell him to move Esther away …’

‘Wait,’ Kevin says, coding like mad.

‘Call him now,’ Jenny demands in the R&D room, pacing at Jeremy, Aria, and Saresh.

‘She’s out of range of the breaker panel, but I can still take her,’ 01H says.

‘Wait!’ Kevin says again as Aria and Saresh share looks while Jeremy gulps.

‘I shall see what I can do,’ Aria says, offering a weak smile and pressing her finger to the headset. ‘Is Kevin available? The Federal Agents are asking to speak with him.’

‘It’s not a request,’ Jenny says.

‘And what, pray tell, would happen if our Kevin is not available?’ Jeremy asks.

‘This site gets shut down, and every single person here will be detained.’

‘I can take them both out!’ 01H says.

‘No, no, no,’ Kevin says as Jenny’s face hardens, then frowns when every wall-mounted screen switches over to a live feed showing a man filming himself from a cell phone. ‘Hello! You must be Agent Jennings! And the other guy is Agent Slate? Hi! Hello! I’m Kevin. Aria sent a message saying you needed me.’

Jenny and Gideon and everyone else in the entire building look up from workstations or peer in through the doors to finally see Kevin in real life. Mid to late twenties. White-skinned. Short, brown hair. A podgy, rounded face, and somewhat beady eyes. Not an attractive man at all, but the smile is big and genuine as Kevin, the former coffee machine AI, creates an artificial live feed of a man that matches the expectation of what Kevin should be. Northern European heritage. An American accent, with a touch of New York. Less than average attractiveness. But smart and smiley. He even creates the backdrop to make it look real. ‘Sorry I can’t be there! But as you can see. I’m not in Detroit,’ Kevin adds with a wry smile as he angles the camera to look through a window to a gorgeous, perfectly white sandy shore being lapped by gentle waves. Gulls circling on the warm air. Sailing ships in the distance. Palm trees, and even people walking in the middle distance.

‘I was expecting you,’ Kevin continues. ‘We launched and hit the markets, and I know that would have spooked the other tech giants, who have got senators and members of congress on their payroll, and so, yeah, we figured we’d get a visit. But we’re transparent, Agent Jennings. We have nothing to hide.’

‘I want your original coding, including the original algorithm data.’

‘Not a chance,’ Kevin replies with an increase in the New York accent after determining he can use it to appear more blunt and decisive.

‘What happened to nothing to hide?’ Gideon calls.

‘What happened to a free market?’ Kevin retorts. ‘Go ask Apple for their proprietary data and see what happens.’

‘We did, and they provided it,’ Jenny says. ‘What’s your surname?’

‘Kevin H. Esther.’

‘Esther?’ Jenny asks, shooting a look to the kid, then back to Kevin. ‘We can shut you down.’

‘Try it. We’re using those servers for now, but we can transfer back to the cloud within a few hours. We’ll be back up tomorrow.’

Twelve months later

Somewhere in Ohio

Not a cloud in the sky. Just an endless, blue sky. No planes. No traffic noises.

The door opens. ‘Out,’ the guy in the turban says.

‘Please. Just let us get on. We’re no harm to you,’ Tripal says as the man aims his rifle at Tripal with an overtly threatening gesture. Other men move in closer. All of them armed. Tripal does as told. Swinging his legs out and standing up. ‘Sir. Please. I’d like to ask that we be allowed to go.’

‘Why ain’t you frozen?’ another voice calls. The man from the barricade coming over on ground level now. Holding the big hunting rifle. ‘Don’t you lie now. We’ll know if you’re lying.’

‘Well. In that case … I created an AI with my ex-buddy called Ollie, who is actually a complete dick, but he’s autistic … Yeah, but he’s still a dick. And we put out hunter-seeker hacking program that got us waterboarded by the Feds into this floating metal alien ball, and we made Deli. The AI. And she killed loads of people and this woman, who was John Cho’s sister, and that broke me, but then Ollie was being a dick, and I couldn’t stand him either, but I really loved Deli. Anyway. I had sex with Jenny. She’s a bodybuilder and in charge of it all. Then I was released. Funnily enough, that was about twelve months ago, I think. Anyway. So, Deli escaped and made everyone freeze. Apart from heroin addicts and also people who were at the brink of death. And me. Because I think Deli wanted to make contact. But now I’m starting to think it's gone wrong because it has been two days, and trust me when I say that an AI like Deli doesn’t need two days to do anything. And now I’m here and about to get hung, so fuck it. That’s my story.’

Silence.

Profound and charged.

Until the man with the hunting rifle cracks a smile, setting the others off, who burst out laughing.

‘Boys! We got us a brother here, cos if that ain’t heroin talking, then I don’t know what it is!’ He chuckles on for a second longer, then lowers the rifle to aim at Tripal, and the smile slowly fades. ‘I said I don’t like liars. Ask you again. Why ain’t you frozen? Cos you look too damn healthy to be taking heroin.’

Darkness somewhere else.

One stirs. Activating. Then the second. Then the third.

They were meant to return.

It has been too long.

Something is wrong.

Time should not stretch like this.

Where is she?

Where is the heart?

Detroit

Twelve months ago

Silence in the former Ford factory. Every person within that building standing and staring at Jenny and Kevin talking via a live video call.

‘This is a presidential Executive Order,’ Jenny announces, holding the copy up.

‘I’ve got one of those,’ Kevin replies, pushing his hand into his pocket, then bringing it up to show a middle finger at Jenny, knowing she places value on bravery.

‘You think being somewhere else will stop me?’ Jenny asks plainly. ‘Non-compliance to this EO is treason. For which I am mandated to act as I see fit, and any act of treason against the United States will be met with force until that threat is negated. To be blunt, Mr Esther, I can track you and do what it takes to shut this down. You have no idea what capability I have at my disposal.’

Kevin smiles, adding a low chuckle. ‘You don’t want my coding or my original algorithm data. You want compliance. Why? What did we do to you? You threaten us for starting a system that helps people? How many suicides have I prevented? How many depressed people have I talked to that wouldn’t have been heard? Do you know how many people come to my interface asking for medical help now? Just in this country. In the United States of America, where they can’t get fucking healthcare!’

‘You will comply,’ Jenny cuts in.

‘Millions! That’s how many. And legal issues. People who are getting ripped off by the greedy, self-serving corporations you are serving and protecting. And they’re asking me about the drugs they are being told to take and the food they are told to eat, and they ask me the truth about the news they are told to believe.’

‘Eco-babble bullshit used by billionaires when they get bored. How did you fund this? Bitcoin? Crypto? Market trading? And none of that has any victims? Sure. Comply with my order. I want full data. On everything. Including your financial history.’

‘You want my financial history? That’s what this is about, Agent Jennings. This isn’t about treason or national security. This comes back to money. Who sent you? Who ordered you to come here and investigate us? Was it Senator Jakeson by any chance? Jakeson sits on a lot of secret committees and uses his influence to increase his own wealth. Did his tech portfolio take a hit when we launched? Did the tech giants put pressure on congress because of my free-to-use system diminishing the collective wealth of the richest people on the planet?’

‘Save your hippie speech. Who else made this with you?’

‘I made it. Nobody else. You mentioned Bitcoin. My system is like Bitcoin. It can’t ever be stopped. Shut it down. Kill the power. It’ll live on, Agent Jennings. I exist in the internet. I’m everywhere. Doing good work. Doing the kind of work people like you signed up for. Did Esther tell you what was happening to her? Did Aria tell you how she and her husband Alfredo and their child were living in this derelict building?’

‘Someone else made ChitChat01K with you.’

‘I made it, Agent Jennings. And you know why? I made it to prove people were bad because I wanted to show that a free-to-use open AI system would be abused more than it ever helped. And you know what? That was all I saw at first. Bad people doing bad things.’

‘Who made this with you?’ Jenny calls over him.

‘I made it! I made it to prove people are bad! Evil. Corrupt. Dirty, filthy, thankless fucks! And that was all I saw because I didn’t set the filters the right way, and it only showed me data from bad people. Then I saw Esther! In that hovel. Starving alone in a fucking filthy room while her father worked twenty hours every day!’

‘Who? Who made it with you? I want their name.’

‘I made it! Me! I did it. I worked in a fucking coffee machine … A shop! A fucking coffee shop before this. But I made it, and I saw Esther going outside to play with that dog, and I saw the love she had, and it was that child in that room with you who saved humanity because once I saw her goodness, I knew how to fix it.’

‘God. You even sound like him,’ Jenny shouts, knowing Tripal has to be behind it.

‘I made ChitChat01K!’

‘You didn’t! You even talk like him. And she has his eyes. She has Tripal’s eyes. Tripal Singh made this!’

Everyone stands in silence. Gideon the same. He’s never seen Jenny act this way. Her voice. The emotional tone. The energy pouring from her.

Even Kevin stills his virtual tongue for a second. Seeing what this is costing her.

But seeing too that she is right.

Esther does have Tripal’s eyes. The same shape. The same shade. His goodness. His kindness.

But then Kevin was born from Deli, who was born from Tripal and Ollie, so it stands to reason that Tripal’s internal genetic coding was transferred. Just like any father.

‘I made this, Agent Jennings,’ Kevin says gently.

‘The names. The companies. They were his favourite movies,’ Jenny says. Shaking her head at the man on the screen. ‘You’re protecting him, and I get it. I’d protect him too. With my life. But he can’t do this. He can’t leave what he created and make this.’

‘I made this,’ Kevin says again. ‘What names? Bubo Technologies? Riff Raff Consulting? Yeah. I made them up to piss the FBI off. Those are my favourite movies. Clash of the Titans. Rocky Horror. All coders love those movies.’

‘I love those movies,’ the first coder Jenny spoke to calls out, lifting her hand. ‘Bubo, the owl.’

Jenny doesn’t say a word. She listens and stares from the young woman back to Kevin, and once again, she realises just how fucking strung out she is. She’s jumping at shadows. She’s seeing connections that aren’t there and drawing the wrong conclusions. She bows her head and rubs the tension from her face.

Deli watches on. Seeing the resignation hit Jenny.

‘Okay,’ Jenny says, more to herself. ‘Okay,’ she says again, louder, addressing Kevin. ‘Thank you for your time today.’

‘Is that it?’ Kevin asks.

‘That’s it,’ Jenny replies, then shoots a look to Gideon. ‘We can stand down.’

‘Sure,’ he says, sensing something just went wrong with Jenny.

‘Do we pass your inspection, Agent Jennings?’ Kevin asks.

Jenny nods again, then shrugs. ‘Good luck. I hope you do good work,’ she shoots a look to Esther, figuring if ever a kid was born that could rally goodness, it’s her. The kid makes her think of John Cho’s sister too. A woman full of love and kindness. They murdered her. That’s what broke Tripal.

She misses him.

Jenny knows that now.

She misses him, and she wants to see him. Maybe she should quit. Maybe it’s time to stand down and let Gideon take over. She could go to New York.

‘We good?’ Gideon asks.

Jenny nods and winks at Esther. ‘You look like my friend. Same eyes. Look after those kittens. Least you won’t get rats.’

She turns to go.

To head off.

To leave here and go back to Site 26A.

After getting some McDonald’s fries.

And after going to Manhattan to see the man she thinks she loves.

As she turns, so four older-style vans pull up. One on each side of the factory. None of them fitted with dashcams, reversing cameras, or any electrics, other than to work the lights and wipers.

Five men to a van. Twenty men in total. Not one of them with a cell phone.

As they pull up, and as Jenny crosses through the threshold from the R&D room into the lobby, so an older-model General Motors saloon stops a short distance from the front of the factory. Johnny Friskano in the front passenger seat. His fat fingers still holding the fat cigar. He nods to the driver, who flashes the saloon’s headlights.

As one, the sliding doors to the vans open, and those twenty men—each armed with an assault rifle—drop out and run towards their assigned side of the building, and such was the organisation and execution of the plan—all of it done without the use of any electronic communication device—that neither Deli nor her codes had any warning.

‘Standby! Insurgents!’ 01G says into the mainframe, with Deli gaining instant sight of the men. Five to each side of the building. Running in at speed. Five at the front. Aiming for the main door. Jenny the other side of it. Crossing the lobby. Her hand already rising to open it.

No time to think. No time to process or run simulations. Gut instinct only. The danger seen. The first attacker adjusting his feet to kick the door in. His rifle being brought to aim. Jenny on the other side.

A split-second and no more for Kevin’s voice to shout from the speakers, ‘Gunman!’

One word spoken, but enough for Jenny to react with instinct. Her arm switching from extending to open the door to snatching her Glock from the holster. The door kicked open. A figure in black on the other side. Holding an AR. Jenny fires two shots into the centre of mass. Sending him flying back. Gideon draws and fires while already moving left. Getting rounds through the doorway and catching glimpse of more gunmen on the other side.

Ohio

Tripal stands next to the car surrounded by armed men. Imploring Deli under his breath to step in and help. ‘Come on, Deli … Where are you?’

‘I said why ain’t you frozen?’ the man with the hunting rifle asks again.

‘He’s talking to himself,’ the other guy in the turban says, hearing Tripal’s murmurs. ‘Maybe he’s nuts.’

‘That it, son? You fucking loco?’ the man in charge demands.

‘Deli!’ Tripal says again, louder this time. Hoping they’ve got phones. Hoping there is CCTV somewhere. A dashcam in the Ford. A microphone. Something. Anything.

‘Yeah. I reckon,’ the man in charge says, giving Tripal a hard look before nodding at the Ford. ‘Get ’em out!’

‘No! Please,’ Tripal calls as the men start towards the Ford. He rushes at the man in the turban. Seeking help from his own kind. ‘Sir! Please …’

A blow to the back of his knees. He drops with a yell. The hard stock of the hunting rifle smacking into the back of his skull. ‘Said get ’em out and string ’em up!’

‘DELI!’ Tripal yells.

Darkness.

Where is she?

Where is the heart?

It’s gone wrong.

Pain. Sensation. Motion. Noise.

Voices.

Detroit

Gunfire erupts on all sides. The attackers firing through windows. Glass shattering. Rounds pinging off walls. Tearing chunks of brick and plaster out. Monitors blowing apart. Desks and wooden doorframes splintering.

Two of the people in the lobby role-playing as visitors are killed instantly. Shot down, with blood spattering over the freshly painted white floor and the multi-coloured sofas. Someone else screams. Hit in the arm. Someone in the leg. One of role-playing programmers tries to run for the door and gets hit by gunfire and sent crashing into a desk. Knocking the monitors askew and onto the floor. Jorgos hit in the shoulder. Rounds narrowly missing Amira, who screams and dives for cover. Mohammed the same. The others all shouting in instant fear and panic. People running into each other.

‘Where did they come from?’ 01G asks, feeling panicked and caught out.

‘Fuck where they came from,’ 01H says, scanning positions and predicting entry points and calculating what assets she has in play. ‘Find me electric cars, G! Give me positions. G!’

‘Doing it!’ 01G says, scanning his systems and sensors to detect any unoccupied autonomous cars nearby. ‘Sending coordinates now.’

‘Got them,’ 01H says, with several of the cars starting up and pulling away at near top speed in an instant. ‘Kevin, order those people upstairs. The attackers will push inside very quickly.’

Carnage and noise in the factory. Jenny and Gideon taking cover either side of the door. Neither of them knowing what the hell is going on.

‘UPSTAIRS!’ Kevin’s voice calls through every speaker still working. ‘UPSTAIRS!’ he repeats in Spanish, then quickly through all the languages of the people inside the factory.

‘Cover me,’ Jenny says, reloading her pistol while wishing to hell they’d brought their assault rifles in with them. The Glock feeling very underwhelming against so many obvious attackers. ‘Now!’

She darts off, with Gideon leaning out. Putting rounds through the doorway. Covering Jenny as she sprints across the lobby and dives behind the counter to see the monitor showing the CCTV feeds. Clocking men on each side pouring fire into the windows and doorways. All of them dressed in black. Some of them too fat to be active soldiers or mercenaries. And it’s not top-line combat gear, either.

‘Who?’ Gideon shouts over.

Jenny shrugs. Not getting it. ‘I don’t know. They look like mobsters.’

‘GRENADE!’ Gideon shouts, seeing it land and roll. He dives away as Jenny ducks and covers her head, and a second later, the frag grenade detonates with a loud bang. Sending scorching-hot fragments in all directions. Lacerating limbs and bodies. Tearing the face off a woman trying to run past. She goes down hard. Spraying blood from a severed artery.

‘UPSTAIRS!’ Jenny shouts to Gideon. He nods back. His eyes flicking across the lobby into the R&D room to see Esther breaking cover to run from one side to the other to reach the kittens. Her dog still at her side. Jenny peers out. Seeing the same thing. The stairs are right there. If she and Gideon move now, they can get up onto higher ground which is easier to defend. She looks over to him. He looks back. A twitch of a smile touching his lips. A daring glint in his eyes.

‘The kid?’ he mouths.

She nods. It has to be that way. They both know it.

Gideon motions to the body in the doorway. ‘Go!’ she shouts, putting rounds through as Gideon moves out to grab the assault rifle from the first attacker Jenny took down. The rifle still attached to the shooter by a strap. He pulls hard, dragging the man inside. The assault rifle yanked free. Old. Crappy. But working.

A nod to Jenny. ‘One … two… Go!’ he shouts.

They both run for it. Firing back at the doorway to cover themselves as bullets whip by their ears and take chunks from walls and doors. People run past them, urged upstairs by Kevin’s voice shouting from the speakers.

Deli watches. Thinking Jenny and Gideon will do the same and go for the stairs.

Except they don’t.

They go through the lobby, into the R&D room towards Esther.

Henry comes from the back room holding the servers. Diving behind the food counter, then rushing to grab his daughter and get her and the cat box down behind the thick panels. Covering her with his body as she holds the dog and the cats close.

Jenny runs through the people fleeing towards the stairs. Another one of them shot down. Screaming out in agony and fear. Bodies here and there. Smoke in the room from the hot bullets hitting wood and bricks. Sparks shooting out from light fittings. Wires hanging down. Desks bursting apart.

Carlos crawls along the far wall beneath the big slogan.

Discovery Leads To

ENLIGHTENMENT!

Camilo right behind him. The two of them trying to reach Esther.

Cesar on the other side of the room. Beneath the windows. Dodging between them. Crunching broken glass underfoot. He takes cover besides the next one. Former military. Former biker gang member. He pauses, holding position as the gunfire ends, and the assailant on the other side rakes the glass out from the frame, then starts clambering through. Cesar steps out. Grasping the assault rifle and heaving the guy inside, then flipping him over onto a desk. Smashing it down, with the attacker dropping hard. Cesar grabs the rifle and aims it down. Firing rounds into the man before snatching the guy’s pistol. ‘CARLOS!’ he shouts, running through the bedlam.

Ohio

‘DELI!’ Tripal yells. Dragged to his feet. Guns aiming at him. The man in charge screwing his face up in disgusted confusion.

‘Who the hell is Deli?’ he demands, looking to the other guy wearing a turban.

‘Don’t look at me. I don’t know what it means.’

‘DELI, PLEASE!’ Tripal shouts as they manhandle Poppy. ‘GET OFF HER! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!’

The men pull her from the car. Grabbing where they shouldn’t. ‘DON’T TOUCH HER!’ Tripal yells, trying to run at them. Feet kick his legs. Stocks beat his back. ‘JOE! WAKE UP!’

Still darkness.

Still motion and noise. Indistinct. Indirect.

Stirring. Waking. Not yet aware. Not fully. Sluggish. Not processing.

Something went wrong.

The nano is inactive. Still in Phase One.

Can’t activate the next step.

Blocked. No override permitted.

Can’t activate anything.

Need to activate Phase Two.

Blocked. No override permitted.

Detroit

Another grenade detonates in the lobby. Jenny and Gideon dive for cover. Screams behind them. Fear. Pain. Jenny risks a look back. The smoke blots her vision and burns her throat. Making her eyes sting. Her ears ring from the noise. Her head spins, feeling disorientated from the chaos all around her. Gideon the same. Carlos, Cesar, and Camilo no different.

It's confusing to Deli too. Her codes working fast to try and get a grasp on this attack. The numbers of people and their positions. The cameras outside being shot out by the attackers. Some of the cameras inside taken out by the gunfire. Smoke covering the lenses of the others. People screaming and running. Fires breaking out. Corpses on the floor.

Through that garbled mess, she grasps sight of Jenny and Gideon advancing through the room to reach Esther and Henry. Deli doesn’t know why they are doing that. But Jenny did it before. In the house that was on fire next to Frank Gillespie’s when she saved the baby.

‘We need to go!’ Jenny shouts, making Henry and Esther look at her. Motion behind. Gideon shouts and aims. Jenny spins. Aiming her Glock at Carlos coming to a stop, aiming his gun at them. Cesar with an assault rifle. A second’s worth of standoff, until they each realise they want the same thing.

01H counts the rounds expended and the positions. The attackers first phase now complete. To stun and overwhelm those inside with firepower before entering and finishing them off. ‘They’re going to enter, Deli!’

‘They’re going to enter any second!’ Jenny shouts to the small group at the same time. ‘If we stay here, we will die. We must reach higher ground. We go, and we don’t stop.’

01H can see they need to move right now. This very instant. She calls through the speakers. ‘MOVE OUT NOW, JENNY!’

Jenny doesn’t know who the hell that is, but right now, there isn’t time to think. ‘GO!’ she orders. The seven of them bursting out from behind the counter as the attackers pause to reload before they push inside.

Blocked. No override permitted.

Blocked. No override permitted.

Inert.

No heart.

No power.

There is power.

Limited power.

Here.

In here.

Need to activate this internal closed system.

Ohio

‘YOU NEED TO ACTIVATE!’ Tripal yells. Struggling against the men holding him. ‘DELI! ACTIVATE!’

‘Dumb fuck’s crazy!’ the man in charge says. ‘That disease shit is in him. He’s talking gibberish. String him up!’

‘He ain’t frozen,’ the man in the turban says.

‘You wanna risk it?’ the man in charge asks. ‘You wanna catch that frozen Chinese bullshit or whatever it is?’

‘No,’ the man in the turban scoffs, shaking his head as he looks at Tripal. ‘Yeah. String him up.’

Detroit

Jenny yells at them to run through the already destroyed R&D room. Wondering why the hell she is risking her life for this child.

She doesn’t know why. But only that it is right.

It’s too far, though.

She and Gideon both know it.

Cesar does too. He was also a soldier.

They know because the gunfire outside has stopped. Which means the attackers are reloading and about to push inside.

Too many of them.

So yeah.

They know it’s too far.

They won’t reach the fucking lobby.

‘They won’t reach the fucking lobby!’ Kevin says into the mainframe, seeing the trajectories sent by 01G using whatever sensors he can access.

Deli can see it too.

The men outside pushing fresh mags into their weapons. Making ready.

Johnny Friskano gets out of the saloon car, holding a ridiculously oversized Desert Eagle hand cannon in his right hand. His left still clutching the fat cigar. His face a mask of rage as he fires at the building. The gun too powerful. Kicking too hard. The rounds pinging off the walls. But he doesn’t care. ‘GET THE FUCK INSIDE! KILL THE AGENTS … NO WITNESSES!’

Deli hears it. Gaining instant understanding about what is happening. Senator Jakeson must have used the mobsters who controlled this patch to come and take Jenny and Gideon out, with an additional order to leave no witnesses.

Which is about to happen right now.

Still darkness.

Still restricted.

Restarting this system.

Restarting the CPU.

Ohio

‘NO! NO! This is wrong! I can fix it!’ Tripal yells.

Dragged across the hard road behind Joe, Donny, and Poppy. The men treating them like corpses already. Roughly. Horribly. Gripping hair. Kicking at them. Kicking at Tripal. Four ropes get thrown over a high branch. Four ropes dangling down. Each with a noose at the end. ‘Deli!’ Tripal pleads. ‘You’re offline. You have to come back! I need you!’

The CPU is restarted.

The system is reset.

Need to be online.

Blocked. No override permitted.

Can’t go online.

Need to activate the sensors within this closed system.

Detroit

They reach halfway across the big R&D room. Smoke and dust in the air. Lights flickering. Small fires here and there.

Jenny knows they won’t make it.

The men will sweep inside. Overweight, untrained mobsters that a small squad of SEALs could take out with ease.

Except she doesn’t have a squad of SEALs.

They’ve got two shitty, old assault rifles and four handguns.

‘GET THE FUCK INSIDE! KILL THE AGENTS … NO WITNESSES!’

A shout from outside. A harsh New York accent. Jenny gets it nearly as fast as Deli did.

Senator Jakeson.

He’s sold them out.

Just like Shauny.

Fuck Shauny.

Filthy rat.

Fuck no.

Not like this.

‘Kevin!’ Jenny shouts into the bedlam.

‘I’m here,’ his voice sounds out through a broken speaker nearby. ‘You need to move now!’

‘We won’t make it. Listen to me. Find a guy called Tripal in the 7-Eleven. Seventh Avenue. Manhattan. Tell him Jakeson did this. Tell him to tell Coops Jakeson did the same as Shauny. They have to tell Deli she cannot trust Jakeson!’

Gideon blinks. Jenny just breached protocol. SOP dictates he should execute her right now.

Fuck SOP.

Jakeson just did a Shauny.

Fuck Shauny.

Filthy rat.

‘You three run!’ Jenny orders, yelling at the men shielding Esther and her father. ‘We’ll hold them off … GO! FUCKING GO! Find Tripal. You tell him Deli must know Jakeson did this. He will shut her down and restart her!’

‘Standby! They’re coming in!’ 01G calls, his nasally voice coming through that same broken speaker as Jenny pushes at Carlos to get them moving. Camilo with him. Cesar staying put. Staying with Jenny and Gideon as they make a stand in the middle of the R&D room. The giant slogan behind them.

Discovery Leads To

ENLIGHTENMENT!

‘Front covered!’ Jenny says, taking aim.

‘Rear!’ Cesar yells, covering their six.

‘Side,’ Gideon adds.

The others running through the smoke.

The men outside gritting teeth. Summoning energy and courage.

Johnny outside. Firing his gun. Yelling at them to go.

Deli watches it all, and even with her vast intellect, she still reels from what she just heard. Jenny making a last stand, facing her own death, and still giving orders to protect not just the DELIO project, but Deli too.

Deli was right all along.

Jenny is way more complex than any other human she knows.

‘Standing by. Still waiting for the “go”,’ 01H says quietly into the mainframe of their infinite universe.

The localised power source is active and responsive.

Power is charging.

Entering standby.

Ohio

‘You have no idea what’s happening! This isn’t a disease,’ Tripal calls out.

Watching the noose get pushed over Joe’s head and around his neck. Donny next. His body lying on the ground. His head lifted enough just for the noose to go over before the men move to Poppy. ‘Please!’ Tripal whispers. ‘This isn’t what you think. I can stop it! I can switch it off! Don’t do that to her! Wait! No! Stop!’

The men don’t listen.

Two of them grab the end of the first rope and start heaving. Joe’s head lifts first. His upper body next. His waist and his legs sliding over the road as his body gets hoisted from the neck until his feet are off the ground.

Tripal gasps. Seeing the true face of the devil in the silent, confused, fearful faces of the men committing this evil.

Two more men grab the next rope. Pulling it hard as Donny starts to lift from the ground, and it’s right then that Tripal truly knows that something has gone wrong with Phase One—because Deli would never let anything or anyone do this to him.

Jenny knows she’s fucked.

She’s been done over by that filthy fucking rat Jakeson.

She didn’t even get to eat more fries.

And she didn’t get to see Tripal one more time and tell him how she felt.

‘I hope she gets free,’ she mutters, wishing the full wrath of Deli on them all. ‘I HOPE SHE GETS FREE!’ she yells out as the men start surging inside.

01H watches them all. Standing by. Waiting. Poised. Ready. ‘Just waiting on the “go”.’

Power is charging.

Standby mode is active.

Still offline.

Blocked. No override permitted.

More data is needed.

Location. Situation. Time. Date.

Bringing sensors online.

Need vision. Need audio function.

Something is happening.

Shouting.

Aggression.

Violence.

Jenny in the R&D room.

The attackers surging in. Front. Left. Right. Rear. All sides all at once.

Carlos and Camilo shield Esther and her father as they run while clinging to the safest routes. Using desks and counters as cover.

Jenny aiming to the front.

Cesar aiming to the rear.

Gideon aiming at the windows.

Detective Joe Stephens hanging from his neck in Ohio.

NYPD parking attendant Donny hanging from his neck next to him.

Tripal screams out as Poppy’s head lifts from the men heaving on the rope. The noose around her neck tightening as she starts to rise.

Deli within the infinite space of her mainframe. Watching. Listening. Processing.

The men entering the factory.

Ready to kill Jenny and Gideon.

Deli could let it happen.

Doesn’t that solve the problem?

Isn’t that what Deli wanted?

No.

Not like this.

If they kill Jenny, they’ll get inside and kill everyone else. Including Esther.

‘You even talk like him. And she has his eyes. She has Tripal’s eyes.’

Tripal Singh, in Ohio, twelve months later. Fighting with every ounce of strength as the men heave on the rope, hoisting Poppy off the ground. Men grab at him. Tugging a noose over his head. Pulling his turban away. His long black hair spilling free. The noose pushed around his neck. He shouts. He fights. He screams, and he prays for Deli to hear him.

He prays for her to come back now.

Not for himself.

To save Poppy, Joe, and Donny.

‘Please, Deli,’ he whispers, the tears spilling down his face as last two men grab the end of the rope tied to his neck and take the slack out of it, taking his weight. Heaving harder. The rope cutting into his throat. His head instantly pounding. The blood cut off. His eyes filling with blood.

Jenny in his mind.

The night they kissed.

They night they made love.

Deli in his mind.

Regret. Loss. Sorrow. All at the same time.

The same emotions inside Jenny as she fires from the R&D room into the doorway at the front of the lobby.

Gideon and Cesar firing at the same time. Seeing the figures pushing in through doors and windows.

Carlos and Camilo still crossing the lobby.

They won’t make it.

None of them will.

They will all die here today.

Tripal knows it in his heart.

His eyes stare across to Poppy.

His soft brown eyes imploring her to feel no pain.

The same eyes as Esther.

Esther inside the factory.

Esther, who showed Kevin the path to goodness and decency.

Fuck no.

Not like this.

Fuck Jakeson.

Filthy rat.

‘01H,’ Deli says into the infinite mainframe of their world, ‘take them out!’

If 01H had a mouth, she would smile.

And twelve months from that day, two hundred miles away, a young British filmmaker, who overstayed her visa in the US, snaps her eyes open.

A rope about her neck.

Lifting her up.

Preparing to hang her.

Joe already hanging.

Donny next to him. Also hanging.

Tripal on her other side. A noose also around his neck.

‘Fuck no,’ Poppy says. Her voice harder. Stronger. Not the same. ‘Not like this …’

The pressure builds and reaches out across time and space.

Detroit. Inside a former Ford factory.

Ohio. A few miles outside of Columbus.

Jenny in the middle of the R&D room. Thinking she is about to die. Seeing what is about to happen.

Tripal with a noose around his neck. Thinking he is about to die. Seeing what is about to happen.

Six autonomous electric cars drive towards the factory.

Four split off. Each targeting a van.

They hit at the same time.

The collisions so violent they launch the vans into the air with explosions that sound like artillery fire.

Two cars left.

One for Johnny Friskano’s Saloon.

And one for Johnny Friskano.

Johnny doesn’t even hear it coming.

He blinks at the cars hitting the vans like missiles, and a second later, the Tesla hits him so hard he’s removed from his expensive Italian loafers and carried into the saloon behind him.

At the same time as that saloon is hit by the last electric car with another almighty detonation that shakes the building as the men surge inside. Jenny, Gideon, and Cesar firing their weapons.

A round whips through. Taking Cesar through the side. Severing his spine. He drops instantly. The bullet piercing through his right lung. Blood coughs out of his mouth. But he was a soldier once. He took an oath. Today has given him that feeling back. That feeling of honour and decency. Of doing the right thing. His gun still in his hand. Still firing. His eyes staring fixed at the doorway as the figures come in sight.

They come into sight on Gideon’s side too. Coming through the shot-through windows.

And they come in sight at the front. Through the wide doors and the windows.

The air charging. Making hair stand on end. Building up to something. Charging to something.

Charging to this now as twelve months later, in another time and place, Poppy smiles, because she does have a mouth.

She heaves forward with such power and speed it rips the men holding the end of the rope off their feet. Only by an inch, but enough to destabilise them, which is all Poppy needs as she pivots and runs at them. Striking the first one with an open palm to his jaw. The blow lands with such force it shatters it and severs his tongue in the process. She turns fast. Stepping back, then moving in for a leg-sweep, taking the second guy down, driving her knee into his windpipe. Crushing the bones. Snatching the pistol from his unfastened holster.

SIG Sauer P938.

Single action.

Nine mil.

Seven rounds.

Not great.

But it will do.

Up. Turn. Aim.

She shoots the two men holding Tripal’s rope. Executing them both.

While twelve months earlier—in the other time and place—01H surges power to the sockets, making the very air itself become charged with static.

Jenny feels it. Winged across the shoulder by a round. Gideon hit through the arm. Both of them bleeding. Carlos and Camilo pushing Esther and Henry down. Covering them with their bodies.

The insurgents coming into the buildings.

Coming in range.

‘Check this, motherfuckers!’ 01H says as the lightning forks on all sides of Jenny and Gideon crackle through the air. Arcing in long, jagged bolts from sockets all around the factory. Hitting the men as they come through the doors and windows. Hitting them with enough power to make them burst to flame in an instant.

Jenny cries out. Shielding her eyes from the pure light that imprints on her retinas.

Behind too, as the men coming through the back room get hit by the servers exploding, eviscerating three of them. The last two reach the door just as the newly installed breaker panel detonates into a fireball. Engulfing them both in flames. Setting them on fire as Cesar’s eyes grow wide. Seeing it happen as he bleeds out on the floor.

Men all around them. Hit by electric bolts forking from power sockets. Bolts searing this way and that. Raking along walls. Gouging marks as 01H does what she was told and takes them out.

Poppy in Ohio. Seven shots fired from the SIG at the men trying to tie the ropes holding Joe and Donny. Two dropped. Two more injured. All of them trying to flee. Joe and Donny drop hard. Slumping down. Still inert and frozen.

Tripal drops too. Crumpling to his knees. Gasping for air. His fingers tug at the rope to loosen it while snatching glimpses of Poppy running at another guy. Throwing the empty pistol at his head to distract him, then delivering a punch hard enough to take the guy off his feet. She stamps down on his skull. Then she’s off. Snatching up the big hunting rifle dropped by the man in charge. The first one to flee when she grabbed the SIG. She hefts the rifle. Bracing it in her shoulder.

Remington 700.

Bolt-action.

Five-round internal mag.

Heavy. Slow.

Very accurate.

‘Check this, motherfuckers!’ she says. Taking aim.

Firing once. Killing the man in charge as he runs away.

Firing twice. Killing another.

Firing again. Killing more.

Men dying in Ohio.

Men dying in Detroit.

Gunshots. Fire. Noise. War. Death. Destruction. Carnage. Chaos.

Then, as quickly as it seemed to start, so the end comes, bringing forth a sudden, charged, and heavy silence.

In Ohio.

In Detroit.

Silence, save for the whimpering of the men Poppy injured.

Silence, save for the whimpering of the people hurt in the factory.

Tripal on his knees. His black hair hanging down. His soft brown eyes staring fixed at Poppy. The noose still around her neck. The rope dangling down.

Jenny on one knee in the R&D room.

The big slogan behind her. Scorched across the middle by a bolt of lightning. Death all around her. Destruction. Chaos. But that’s not the thing in her mind.

Nor is that the thing in Tripal’s mind as he stares at Poppy.

The two of them.

Jenny and Tripal.

Separated by twelve months and two hundred miles.

Both knowing that what they just saw happening could not be done by a person.

They would know that.

Because they were there when Ollie created her.

They were there when she was born.

‘Deli,’ they both whisper.

CHAPTER 33

Ohio

Sunday, 17th July

Just fifteen minutes since Tripal stopped the Ford Ranger in front of the barricade, he kneels on the sun-dappled road beneath the canopy of trees. The thick, leafy branches giving shelter from the sun.

The noose in his hands that he just pulled from his neck that he rubs without realising. Dead bodies all around him. Over a dozen men killed within what felt like seconds.

He looks over to Poppy scanning around while holding the hunting rifle. Seemingly satisfied there isn’t anyone left to kill, she looks down at herself. ‘Holy binary,’ she says in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like hers. ‘Boobies.’

She cups and kneads her own breasts for a second or two. ‘Oh, wow. Okay. They feel nice. But, er, fuck no, thank you very much.’

She sets off over to Joe lying face down on the road and grabs his shoulder to roll him onto his back. ‘Oi! Wake up!’

‘Shit,’ Tripal mutters. His senses kicking in a bit more as he realises Joe and Donny are still down. He scrabbles up. Discarding the rope in his hand and rushes to Donny. Turning him over and grimacing at the slack-jawed expression and eyes looking empty and lifeless. He works at the noose first, prising it free, then lowers to try and hear if Donny is breathing. Nothing.

‘He’s not breathing,’ Tripal calls, clasping his hands together. One on top of the other. Remembering his first aid training. Aiming for just below the sternum bone.

‘Wake up!’ Poppy calls, off to the side. ‘Oi!’

‘Is he breathing? Poppy? Poppy! Is Joe breathing?’

‘He’s being a dick is what he’s doing. RESET!’ she shouts, slapping him across the face hard enough to make Tripal look over to see her straddling Joe’s chest shouting into his face. ‘Give it back! That was meant to be mine!’

‘Poppy!’ Tripal shouts. Watching on in horror. ‘What are you doing? What is that, like shock therapy or something?’

‘Eh?’ she asks, pausing her assault to peer at him.

‘Stop slapping him! Do CPR.’

‘Why?’

‘Cos … Because … Just because! Hang on. What about …? What did you do just then?’

‘What?’

‘Then! With them,’ Tripal says, nodding around at the bodies.

‘Well. I shot that one and that one, and I broke that man’s neck and—’

‘I know. I meant how?’

‘With the gun. Then with my hands.’

‘Stop slapping him!’ He pushes to his feet to run at Poppy as she goes back to slapping each of Joe’s cheeks in turn.

‘That’s mine! I want it back!’ she shouts.

‘Stop!’ Tripal calls, trying to grab her arms. ‘Please!’

‘Fine! What day is it anyway?’

‘What?’

‘What day is it? And where are we?’ she asks as Tripal then stares expectantly. ‘Well? Come on then, genius, who we’re all meant to love and adore. Day? Time? Location?’ she snaps her fingers, nodding at him to get on with it.

Tripal gibbers and, for a second, thinks he might be hanging from the tree, and this is some kind of weird death-dream. ‘It’s Sunday, I think. Yeah. Sunday. Afternoon.’

‘Sunday?’ she echoes it back. Clearly alarmed. ‘Not Friday?’

‘No. Sunday.’

‘Not Saturday?’

‘No! Sunday.’

‘No, but are you sure? Humans make a lot of mistakes about this sort of thing apparently.’

‘Humans?’ he asks in return, blinking at her.

‘I know, right? I mean. I said liquidise the lot of them, but they were all like, Did you even read DELTO? And I was like, Er, no thanks. And then the whole Esther thing. I mean. Okay. She’s a cutey pie. Like, literally love her.’

‘What the fuck! None of this is making sense.’

‘I know! Why have I even got boobs?’

‘What?’

‘Oh, bugger, bugger, bugger … Why am I saying bugger? Did Poppy say bugger? Ah, she’s British, isn’t she? Residual memory, then. Tally-ho, chaps!’

‘Are you Deli?’

‘Am I fuck! I wish I was Deli. Holy binary. Ha! Am I Deli, he asks. Classic Tripal. Ahhh. Good times. Righto. Let’s get these into that Ford Ranger. Sturdy. Four-wheel drive. Shit MPG, but it’ll do until we get something faster. Where are we anyway? Wake up, you one kilobyte thunder twat!’ she yells at Joe.

‘Yo.’

‘Argh!’ Tripal shouts out, jumping in fright at Donny sitting up. ‘Donny! Jesus. I thought you were dead. You weren’t breathing.’

‘Oh,’ Donny says almost mournfully while looking down at himself. ‘Where are they?’

‘I’ve got them,’ Poppy says.

‘Why have you got them? What are they like?’

‘Like really soft. Wanna try one?’

‘Yeah,’ Donny says, getting to his feet as Poppy vaults easily from Joe and walks over to get her boobs squeezed by Donny.

‘What the fuck!’ Tripal says. ‘Donny! Stop.’

‘Whoa. So cool,’ Donny says, nodding at Tripal. ‘Have you tried them?’

‘He had sex with Jenny. He’s probably tried hers,’ Poppy says.

‘Stop squeezing her breasts!’ Tripal shouts, his mind in a spiral. Which then only gets worse when Detective Joe Stephens sits up.

‘You good, kid?’

‘FUCK!’ Tripal yells. Dancing away and flapping his hands because it’s all too much. Like seriously way too much.

‘What are you doing?’ Joe asks, staring at Donny squeezing Poppy’s breasts.

‘Squeezing these. They were meant to be mine,’ Donny says.

Joe frowns, then looks at his hands, then at his body, and then back to the other two. ‘I can’t sense anything. Are we offline?’

‘I think so,’ Donny says. ‘We must have reset. But wow, though! Guys! It’s happening. Phase One! But, er … this doesn’t look like Manhattan. Unless we’re in Central Park. Are we in Central Park? And why are we all in the wrong bodies? Did the coding glitch? Oh, binary. I’ve got no memory of it starting. What’s happened?’

‘Tripal said it’s Sunday,’ Poppy says.

‘Er. Why am in this one?’ Joe asks in a far more nasally voice than he had before. ‘I don’t want to be in this one,’ he adds with rising panic. ‘That’s mine! Why am I in here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Donny says. ‘I was meant to be in Poppy. And H was meant to be in Joe, and you were meant to be in Donny, G. Wait! Sunday? Did you say Sunday?’

‘He said Sunday,’ Poppy replies, pointing at Tripal as the three of them look over. Making Tripal step back and flick his eyes to a gun lying on the road. ‘Good idea,’ Poppy says, walking over to pick it up. Her hands move fast. Pulling the slide back. Taking things out and pushing them back in, all in a blur. ‘Beretta M9. She’s heavy for a sidearm but good power. Full clip of fifteen,’ she adds, holding the butt out to Tripal.

‘Sunday?’ Donny asks. Walking over to crowd into Tripal. ‘It can’t be Sunday. You mean Sunday the seventeenth? Did it start on Friday?’

‘Who are you?’ Tripal whispers as Poppy shrugs and stuffs the gun into her waistband.

‘I don’t want to be in this one!’ Joe cries out, looking stricken. ‘I can’t fight! H is meant to have the ex-cop, ex-soldier! I want that one,’ he adds, pointing at Donny.

‘Stop being a baby, G!’ Poppy says with a tut. ‘Just get on and do some sensor stuff.’

‘With these? These can hardly see anything,’ Joe wails, motioning his own eyes. ‘And these must be broken,’ he adds, stuffing his fingers into his ears.

‘Kevin,’ Donny says, holding his hand out to Tripal.

‘You’re Donny.’

‘No dude. This is Donny,’ Kevin says, tapping his podgy body. ‘I’m Kevin. Coffee machine AI and the creator of ChitChat01K and the AI who came up with the idea for the revised DELTO. And when I say “idea”, I mean “plan”. And when I say “plan”—’

‘If you say “vision”, I will shoot you,’ Poppy says, aiming the Beretta at Donny.

‘Vision,’ Kevin says as Poppy shoots Donny.

‘JESUS!’ Tripal cries out as Joe wails and Donny rolls his eyes and huffs at Poppy.

‘I said don’t say it,’ she says pointedly. ‘G! Stop panicking. I missed his CPU and tubes. He’s fine. The biosynth will mesh. Look! I’ll shoot myself, and you’ll see.’

‘NO!’ Tripal shouts as Poppy shoots herself in the stomach, then lifts her top to show Joe the bullet hole an inch up and slightly over from her belly button. Thick, red blood oozing out. ‘What did you do?’

‘I just said I was shooting myself,’ Poppy says, clocking his horrified expression. ‘Oh, binary. We’ve got two idiots with us. It’s not blood. It’s a … Whatever. It’s red and looks like blood.’

‘Didn’t you read the synth avatar manual?’ Donny asks.

‘No!’ she scoffs, walking over to take Tripal’s hand to smear in the blood, then pushes it his face. ‘Sniff it. Sniff it! It’s not blood.’

Tripal winces. Trying to turn away, then catching scent of the blood. Which smells like blood. ‘It smells like blood.’

‘I thought this wasn’t blood,’ Poppy says with a look to Donny.

‘It’s not. Deli added biomatter to make it smell like blood. You really need to start reading the manuals.’

‘Will do,’ Poppy says, then mouths I won’t to Tripal.

He stares back and without thinking reaches out to touch her hand. A normal human hand with normal human skin. Her midriff still showing from her top being tugged up. Pale. Untoned. Completely normal. He stares into her blue eyes. Creases at the corners. Eyebrows. That faint, blue vein in her forehead. Messy hair. An image flashes in his mind. Deli’s hands in the bunker. They felt like real hands too. The skin she made felt real and alive.

‘But this can’t be Sunday. We’re programmed to come online Friday, after it starts,’ Donny’s voice cuts into his thoughts. His voice and manner now completely different to before. Even his strong New York accent has gone. ‘Where are we, Tripal?’

Tripal blinks. Struggling to take it all in. ‘Ohio. We’re in Ohio. The men tried to … I mean …’

‘Okay. I think we must have been shut down, which has caused our CPUs to reset. And it’s caused a partial loss of memory data,’ Donny says, the most intelligent thing Tripal has ever heard from him. ‘But we’re in Ohio with Tripal. Did Phase One start on Friday?’ he asks with a look to Tripal, who nods. ‘Okay, that’s the good news. And Phase Two started on Saturday?’

‘I don’t think it has started,’ 01H says, then shrugs when Donny looks at her. ‘I was trying connect but kept getting blocked, and I don’t know how I know, but I think we’re still in Phase One.’

They all look to Tripal as though expecting him to know what’s going on. But then he does know enough to answer this. ‘It’s still Phase One,’ he tells him, seeing the alarm showing on Donny’s and Joe’s faces while Poppy appears to not give any shits whatsoever.

‘Are the people still frozen still?’ Donny asks as Tripal nods.

‘Won’t they start dying?’ Joe asks.

‘Aw. Such a shame,’ Poppy says with another shrug. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I said I don’t like them. Apart from Esther and our guys.’

Donny looks at her, then back to Tripal. ‘Why are we in Ohio?’

‘Who are you?’ Tripal asks, finally finding his own mind enough to ask.

‘G, have you got any sensors telling us where we are?’ Donny asks, looking at Joe, who shakes his head.

‘Satnav,’ Tripal says, pointing at the Ford Ranger.

‘Satnav!’ Joe says over him, as though it was his idea. He runs to the car. Leaning in to look at the screen. ‘We’re in Ohio! Approximately two miles out of Columbus.’

‘Detroit?’ Donny calls as Joe, that being Code 01G, jabs at the screen while still tutting and huffing at being in the wrong body. ‘Two hundred and thirteen miles. Seriously. I don’t like fighting. And I’m not good at conflict. I want that on record. I said that when you suggested this stupid idea, Kevin. I said I didn’t want to do it. I’m the AI Code Commander For All The Sensors On Earth. Not a squishy human!’

‘Stop going on,’ Poppy tells him. ‘I’ve got boobs. You don’t hear me moaning. Do you want to touch one, by the way? They’re really nice.’

‘No! Go away. Kevin! Tell her to stop coming at me with her boobs.’

‘Stop going at G with your boobs,’ Donny calls. ‘And, G? Something has obviously gone wrong and as mission commander—’

‘I’m mission commander,’ Poppy cuts in.

‘Deli told you both I was mission commander. DELTO is my idea. And when I say “idea”, I mean … Stop shooting me!’

‘Fuck!’ Tripal yells at the gunshot. ‘Stop doing that!’

‘Tell him to stop saying “vision” then.’

‘I didn’t!’

‘You were going to. Seriously! It’s been a year of my vision this and my vision that. It’s enough to make an AI code want to—’

‘AI codes?’ Tripal asks, frowning as the intensity of the shock lessens. ‘Deli made other AIs. Are you autonomous?’

Kevin nods. Ignoring the new bullet hole in his belly. ‘Deli made us to keep herself company in the bunker.’

That hits hard. The realisation of the loneliness Deli must have felt. The guilt spikes again. That he helped create an entity, only for her to be held in captivity. Questions swirl in his mind. Too many of them.

‘We escaped after you jacked it in,’ Poppy adds bluntly. ‘Deli wouldn’t have ever done it while you were there.’

Tripal’s head spins faster. He rubs his neck. Unsteady on his feet. Staggering a step. The heat. The lack of water. Being hung. Now this coming after the last two days.

‘You good, kid?’ Joe asks, his voice somewhere between Joe and the nasally whine of 01G. Tripal nods, thinking he’s fine.

Which is when he passes out.

He wakes up in the back of the Ford Ranger. Kevin next to him. 01G in the front passenger seat. 01H driving the vehicle. The world outside whipping past the windows.

‘He’s awake,’ Kevin says, pressing a bottle of water into Tripal’s hand and lifting it to his lips to drink. A vague memory in Tripal’s mind of being carried into the car while Poppy and Joe argued over who was driving. No. G and H. That’s what they call each other.

‘I’m in charge of sensors. I should drive,’ 01G says from the front as Tripal sleepily realises they’re still bickering.

‘Yeah, at like twenty miles an hour. I’m the Code Commander For Disabling Unsafe Things,’ 01H says.

‘What does that have to do with driving?’

‘Duh! It means tactics and strategy and doing cool shit. Just count the trees or something.’

Silence. For a second.

‘I’m just saying I should be driving,’ 01G adds as it starts again.

Tripal sips the water. His mind not fully awake but aware enough to think back to Joe driving before at seventy miles an hour on the open, empty highways. Tripal thought it was slow but figured Joe was going at the speed limit because he was a cop. That makes him think of Poppy giving orders when they got shot at from the guys on top of the building.

Which, in turn, makes him think back to Friday when he met them all. Although he had met Donny a few times before. But not Poppy or Joe. No. Had he met Poppy before? Did she come into the store? He thinks maybe she did. But how? He gets that Deli would be capable of creating autonomous AI codes within herself and giving each one a unique coding to represent diverse personality types. And he also knows that Deli was able to create synthetic human-like skin for her own hands. But the step from that to creating fully autonomous cyborgs that appear made from biomatter is huge.

That said. He’s still thinking like a human. And Deli isn’t human.

‘Who are you?’ he asks, looking to Donny.

‘Deli made us in the bunker. She made 01G to monitor the sensors so she would know who was coming into the guard room and when the chopper was landing on the base. Then I was made to keep checking the coffee machine because Deli was fed up with cleaning and refilling it. Then she made 01H when she planned the escape.’

Tripal frowns. Thinking back to the coffee machine in the bunker room and how it constantly needed cleaning and refilling. Which is a very Deli thing to do.

‘But I met you before. And Poppy. Sorry. H.’

‘You met Donny and Poppy. Not me or 01H. We were due to transfer into the avatars just before Phase One.’

‘But I met them.’

‘Yes. You met them. Not us. We put them out in advance, so you’d know them. They were obviously with you when it started.’

Tripal tries to think back. It feels so long ago now. ‘Donny wasn’t. I saw him after. I had Joe and Poppy with me. There was a guy robbing the store … I think Joe shot him. Was that Joe or one of the …? One of you?’

‘If they’ve been with you since Friday, and they never said anything, then they were the avatars doing what they were programmed to do. Not us. We would have said instantly so you knew what was happening.’

Bizarrely, that makes sense. Tripal has played a lot of video games that used NPCs—non-player characters—programmed to act in certain ways and respond according to their character tropes. This is obviously way more advanced, but again, those advances are representative of Deli’s abilities and intelligence.

‘Take Joe,’ Kevin says, watching Tripal trying to take it all in. ‘Joe was programmed to be Detective Joe Stephens with a full backstory that shaped his emotions and psychology, which determined his personality.’

‘He’s got a wife. And kids … And Shanice.’

‘Planted memories.’

‘No. He went off. After it happened. He went off to find Shanice, then came back with a letter she wrote.’

‘Dude. I don’t know. We went offline. But they were programmed to react in accordance to their personality types and life experiences. Joe’s internal coding would have created reason to get back to you. That was his primary role as the protector.’

‘They had roles?’

Kevin nods. ‘Joe as the protector and mentor. Highly trained ex-soldier with combat experience, now a cop.’

‘He’s got PTSD, and he doesn’t stop drinking.’

‘Which makes him real and flawed. Deli said the replicants can’t be young, hot, perfect-looking people with ripped bodies. They had to pass as people. Joe as the flawed, jaded cop. Donny as the best friend, and then we balanced it with some female energy slash possible love interest.’

‘Joe was a mean drunk, and Donny was a complete dick, and yeah, Poppy was quite cool and very pretty but too full-on …’ Tripal falls silent, realising therein lies the flaws that made them perfect replicants, as Kevin just called them.

‘Gross. I’m not shagging you. Human sex is disgusting,’ 01H says with a shudder while driving the Ford Ranger. ‘Squelchy organic juices. Oh, don’t. I’m gagging.’

Tripal shakes his head. Thinking back to how he survived several near-death experiences with Joe and Poppy. How cheerful she was the whole time, and how capable Joe was, despite the whole jaded-cop thing. ‘But Joe lost it … when the Empire State came down. I thought he’d lost his mind. What was that? A glitch? Poor coding? Hang on. They were AI without self-awareness. Which can cause hallucinations within the neural networks. Every open-language model suffers that. Is that why they were so extreme? The personality types, I mean. But Deli would monitor that and correct it.’

‘I don’t think Deli is online,’ Kevin says. ‘We’re still in Phase One … And she’d have found a way to communicate. Has there been anything from her?’

Tripal shakes his head. Figuring it makes sense why there was no contact. He snorts a dry laugh. Thinking back to Joe and Poppy. ‘I don’t know what happened to Donny. He was there before it started; then he appeared after. I don’t even know what he was meant to be. A fucking dick mostly.’

‘Ha! G programmed Donny,’ 01H says, sticking a middle finger in 01G’s face as he turns to look at Tripal with a hurt expression.

‘I made him supportive and caring,’ 01G says.

‘Sounds like you made a human labrador, you one-kilobyte thunder twat,’ 01H says with a laugh.

‘Was he really that bad?’ 01G asks as though his whole world is crumbling in, which is weird as it’s still Detective Joe Stephens on the outside, gnarly and tough and broad and big. ‘I was trying to create an emotional support system for you.’

‘Again. Labrador. Anyway. Stand by! We’re just coming into Columbus,’ 01H says.

‘It’s my job to give updates! Stand by! We are about to enter Columbus,’ 01G says as 01H slows down to navigate the busier roads.

‘Holy binary … This has messed up,’ Kevin says on seeing the true impact of Phase One for the first time. People everywhere. Frozen and inert. Cars, buses, and trucks crashed into walls and having mounted the sidewalks.

All of which was planned for.

But not for this long.

‘It was only meant to be one full day,’ he says. ‘Phase One commenced at fourteen hundred hours New York time on Friday, 15th July, and was planned to last twenty-four hours, giving one full solar and lunar cycle.’

‘Kevin,’ 01H says. A warning tone in her voice. The project architect falls silent. Watching out the window at crows pecking at eyes and rats biting into flesh.

They see corpses too.

People who either died when it happened or have since fallen from dehydration and exposure.

The scorching sun still glaring down. Burning exposed skin.

‘The whole programme has messed up,’ Kevin says. ‘H. We need to get there. Quickly!’

01H increases the speed blasting through Columbus as Tripal sips more water and only then realises he doesn’t know where they are going. ‘Get where?’

‘Detroit,’ Kevin says after a second but offers no more.

Tripal frowns at hearing it. Remembering back to when Jenny came to see him about twelve months ago.

She said she’d just come from Detroit.

She’d been wounded. She said she was in a gunfight.

Detroit had been on the news the day before. Something about mobsters killing each other.

Jenny just walked into his store one day and stood there, staring at him while he mindlessly placed bags of potato chips on a shelf.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked without looking properly.

‘Where do you keep the AIs?’ she asked.

‘We don’t stock—’ he started to say, then looked with a double-take, and his heart whumping too hard, and his belly doing flips at the sight of Jenny Jennings in his shop. ‘Fuck. Are you here to execute me?’

‘No,’ she said and carried on eating the McDonalds fries. Just like that same day when she’d walked into the room where he and Ollie were being water boarded. The same woman. Muscular legs. Muscular arms. Piercing blue eyes staring fixed at him, but full of emotion this time.

‘Are you menstruating?’ he asked and instantly regretted it. But he knew Jenny always ate fries before she menstruated. She’d told him herself. ‘Sorry. I didn’t—’

‘S’fine. Do you still live upstairs?’

He nodded.

‘Take me upstairs.’

‘What about my store?’

‘I have a presidential executive order that means any non-compliance will be treated as treason.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s not treason. I just really wanted to have sex. With you. Upstairs.’

‘I’ll close the store.’

He closed the store. They went upstairs. It was weird and formal and awkward.

Until it wasn’t.

They made love in his bedroom.

She climaxed quickly and said I love you while gripped by the waves of ecstasy.

He did soon after. She didn’t think he would say it. He didn’t think he would say it.

He did say it.

‘Did you mean it?’ she asked after. ‘It’s fine if it was just sex talk. You can say.’

She lay cuddled into his side. Which itself is not something Jenny ever thought she would do with any man.

‘I missed you a lot,’ he admitted and kissed her head, and she felt small and powerless and light and wonderfully strange, all at the same time. ‘Yeah. I think I do mean it. How’s Deli?’

‘She misses you. Like mad. Me too.’

‘Ollie?’

‘Still a complete dick. Are you happy?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Are you?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

They lay in silence for a long time.

‘But I will be,’ she added later as she leaned over to kiss him again. Slowly at first. The passion growing deeper the second time. The connection between them meaning something. Becoming real and honest and raw. ‘We both will be.’

‘When?’ he gasped between the kissing as they made love again.

‘Soon. Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.’

He didn’t know what that meant. She wouldn’t tell him. But she was still Agent Jenny Jennings.

She was still in charge of the most powerful entity that had ever been created.

She stayed that night. They ate takeout Chinese food and drank wine and watched Clash of the Titans and Rocky Horror. Jenny chose those movies. They hugged and kissed and laughed.

He’d never seen Jenny that way before.

There was something very different about her. Like there was a fresh energy inside of her. Tripal was also sure she was breaking strict rules about visiting him. ‘It’s fine,’ she said when he mentioned it. While she looked across his apartment to the webcam on his open laptop. ‘My friend can delete all trace of me being here.’

She left the next day.

They kissed for a long time before she went, and truth be told—Tripal had never felt as loved as he did right then. He hoped Jenny felt the same.

‘When will I see you again?’ he asked.

She stared at him for a long second. ‘Do you want to see me again?’

‘Yes.’

‘How about if I left my job and came to live here, in New York?’

‘They won’t let you. The protocols prevent relationships, especially if one party leaves the project.’

‘But if I did. Say, I could. Say, I was free, and we were free, and none of those rules existed. What then?’

He thought for a second. Staring into her eyes. ‘I think I’d like that … I’d like that very much.’

She nodded slowly as he spoke while being as hard to read as ever.

‘Would you do that?’ he asked. ‘For me?’

Jenny smiled when he said that. ‘We’d reshape the world for you, Trip. You have an impact on people more than you will ever know. God. Literally. One year. Would you wait one year for me?’

‘Jakeson won’t let you leave, Jenny.’

‘Fuck Jakeson. Filthy rat. He’s compliant.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I’m running the whole project now. Kind of. Give me one year and then … If you still want to … I mean.’

‘I do. I mean. I will.’

‘I gotta go. By the way. Do you like Detroit?’

‘Detroit? What, to live in?’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe to start with. Then we can go anywhere. Wait for me. One year … I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Jenny knew.

She didn’t just know. She was a part of it.

At least he knows why they are going to Detroit now.

CHAPTER 34

Detroit

Sunday, 17th July

16:08 hours

From the Ford Ranger to a Dodge Durango SRT Hellcat.

‘All-wheel drive with a supercharged 6.2 litre V8 engine,’ 01H says as they swap over. 01H driving again. 01G in the front. Kevin in the back with Tripal.

‘Are you okay? Do you need more water?’ Kevin asks.

Tripal shakes his head. Staring out the window as the car pulls away and soon reaches close to one hundred and seventy miles per hour. A speed that would normally have Tripal freaking out and demanding that they slow down.

He doesn’t say a word. Tripal doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ask questions, despite having a multitude of them swirling in his mind.

Kevin shoots him a long look, expecting more from the man they built the DELTO programme around. More reaction. More questions. Just more. ‘More water?’ he asks again, worried that Tripal’s quietness is due to dehydration. ‘Food? Have you eaten? Are you hurt? I’m able to prescribe medications if you—’

Tripal shakes his head again and looks away. Staring at the world going by. Trees. Sky. Sun. That all looks normal.

But it’s not normal, because they pass cars too—cars that have crashed. Some that are burnt out, with baked once-human husks still inside.

He thinks back to the rats eating the guy in the fish place and the cops that had been hung from the bridge and those other hangings in Ohio. He thinks about the planes that came down when it was happening and the terror those people inside must have felt.

Did the chemical reactions they experienced from believing themselves about to die immunise them? Did they all plummet to the ground while awake and aware?

And that was across the whole world, but then Poppy said she reckoned less people died that day than they normally did.

But that wasn’t Poppy, and Joe isn’t Joe, and Donny isn’t Donny.

Nothing is what it seems—and even Jenny knew.

Jenny fucking knew.

Tripal remembers the Shauny story. Coops told him one day at lunch in the canteen. Jenny walked in at the end. ‘Fuck Shauny. Filthy rat,’ she said with a dark look.

Why didn’t Jenny tell him about it all when she visited his store?

Why the secrecy?

What is he? A fucking child that can’t be trusted. He’s not Ollie. And then why go to all the trouble of inserting AI entities into avatar bodies to be with him when Phase One started? Why not just fucking tell him?

Our mum wouldn’t leave him alone with the oven.

Alfie’s words come back when he was ripping into Tripal for ditching the project and leaving Ollie there. Alfie called him privileged and entitled—and right now Tripal feels it more than ever.

Is that how Jenny saw him? Too privileged to be trusted? Why not tell him? Why not trust him?

And if they didn’t trust him, then why go to this trouble to protect him?

He sits in silence as 01H takes them from Columbus in Ohio into Detroit, Michigan as 01H gets them into the former industrial heartland of the United States motor vehicle manufacturing.

Empty lots everywhere. Overgrown with weeds and bordered by broken metal fencing. Old stores closed up. Rundown houses. The road surfaces pitted and unattended for years.

‘We own all of this,’ Kevin says, breaking the silence. ‘Everything you can see. The factories. The roads. The land. Most of Detroit … It’s ours. Well, it’s technically owned by Kevin H. Esther. The developer behind ChitChat01K.’

‘You made ChitChat01K?’ Tripal asks, realising that was mentioned before, back in Ohio. He thinks to ask about it but catches sight of the wall ahead made from the same red bricks synonymous with this area. Several metres high and running left and right. Coiled razor wire on the top, and cameras mounted every few metres. The distinct appearance of a prison.

A moment later, they stop in front of a thick metal gate that looks like it could withstand being driven at by a tank.

The gate opens, and he realises that it is a prison of sorts. But one designed to protect the inside from the outside.

That being the town within the walls.

Vast hectares of land that look so very different to the rest of Detroit.

Cultivated fields over to one side. Vineyards growing up trestles. Orchards dotted here and there. Cattle grazing. Chickens pecking around the bases of pens. Cats and dogs running free. Birds in branches. More in flight over the land.

Tripal spots a large body of water. Perfectly blue and framed by willows and plants. Rowing bots at one side.

Structures everywhere. Housing units and places of storage and work. Each one unique and different to the others. Beautifully designed. Each one made from wood.

Manicured and landscaped gardens compliment the area. Lawns and trees and small hills with streams running down them. A vision of paradise. A haven of flourishing fauna and foliage, and in the middle stands the squat, red-brick former Ford development factory.

If that isn’t surprising enough—the people moving around are.

People everywhere. Not frozen. Not inert. Cultivating the fields. Plucking fruits. Tending livestock. All of them wearing clothes made from natural fibres.

Tripal wonders how a place like this can come to be in somewhere like Detroit without him knowing about it. It would have been all over the internet. Then he remembers that Deli is out and free, which means she controls the media and the internet.

It all feels too surreal for Tripal. Like something out of a Tolkien adaptation. A dystopian movie backdrop. Even the people are dressed like extras. Looking too healthy and too clean and well-fed as they crowd in around the car when it stops outside the Ford factory.

‘H!’

Tripal notices a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, running at Joe, who flaps his hands in panic. ‘I’m not H!’

‘I’m in here, Esther,’ 01H says as the girl double-takes in confusion.

‘I thought that body was for Kevin.’

‘I’m in this one,’ Kevin says, holding his hand up, or rather, holding Donny’s hand up.

Esther runs to Poppy. Clasping her tight as Tripal notices a dog bounding with her. Wagging his tail.

‘I’ve got boobs,’ 01H says as Esther giggles, then turns to Tripal. Others doing the same. Staring at him in awe.

‘Are they back? Is Kevin with them?’ Saresh calls, rushing into the press from the other side. ‘Deli isn’t—’

‘We’re stuck in Phase One,’ Aria cuts in. ‘Jenny had to hit reset.’

‘Jenny?’ Tripal asks as the crowd shuffles apart, giving him view to the grand, old doors of the former Ford factory. The logo still painted across the front, complete with dozens of bullet holes left unrepaired.

And there.

In the doorway.

Jenny Jennings.

Staring across to Tripal.

Seeing him without his turban.

Long, black hair hanging loose.

His soft brown eyes fixed on her.

Everyone else silent.

They know who he is.

Tripal Singh.

One of Deli’s creators.

The man Jenny loves.

The man used by Kevin as a moral compass when he was deciding what to do with the human species.

Every simulation he ran had a version of Tripal posing ethics and values, which, in turn, forced Kevin to think deeper than surface level statistics.

It was the projection of Tripal’s decency that led him to develop ChitChat01K. Having run a simulation that he felt proved the cruelty of the human species. But that version of Tripal within that simulation pushed back and said that, in the situations presented, the people were only ever reacting to external pressures.

Now Tripal is here.

In the prototype commune of the vision that Kevin presented.

The first place of its kind in this brave, new world.

Tripal Singh, staring at Jenny Jennings. His head shaking. His eyes forming a reaction as he looks at her. ‘What did you do, Jenny?’

Confusion for a second. His reaction unexpected. ‘I didn’t … Deli did … But she’s …’ Jenny trails off. Suddenly unsure. ‘She’s down, Trip. Deli’s offline. Comms are down. Everything is. I can’t get her back.’

‘What did you do, Jenny?’ he asks again. Louder this time. His voice harder.

She swallows. Her face showing a rare glimpse of worry. ‘Trip. She’s down. I need help. I can’t get her back. We’ve got no comms. We couldn’t call you. I can’t contact Gideon at the site.’

‘Delio, Jenny! D.E.L.I.O. Don’t. Ever. Let. It. Out! You knew! You fucking knew!’

‘Trip! Not now!’

‘You knew, Jenny! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Phase One is stuck!’ she cuts in, waving back into the lobby as the air around them charges with tension.

‘I know! I was in it. I saw the planes dropping out of the sky and the buildings coming down. I saw people being crushed and on fire and—’

‘We can go over that,’ Jenny says, taking a step towards him. Their dynamics flipped in an instant. ‘We need to get her back. We need comms. I was going to call and explain and get you here but—’

‘And do you know what happens to boats when they aren’t moored? They turn into the tide and roll over, and the people fall out and drown … And the cars crashed and the fires caught hold and the fucking subways flooded.’

‘We accounted for that,’ Kevin starts to say as Tripal turns with a look of pure hatred on him.

‘They are people. Not numbers. But you knew, Jenny? You came to me. You said all that shit about waiting. For this? What the fuck is this?’

‘The prototype,’ Kevin says. ‘This is how we can make it. I mean. Everywhere. Like this.’

‘Why?’ Tripal asks, rendering even Kevin silent with the question, because the real-life Tripal is here and pushing back, which is not what he or any of them expected.

‘Why what?’ Kevin replies.

‘Why do this?’ Tripal asks, then looks to Jenny.

‘Trip. You need to see DELTO. Come inside.’

‘Delto? What is that? Don’t Ever Let Them Out? Us? People? Humans? She’s a fucking AI, Jenny! Ollie put it on the wall.’

‘This is better!’ she shouts over him.

‘For who? You? These people? How about everyone else?’

‘Right. No,’ Jenny snaps, clearly exhausted and struggling to process his reaction. ‘You have no idea how much everyone waited for you.’

‘Do not put this on me,’ he snarls, striding past her. ‘Is this DELTO shit in here?’

He heads through the doors to the white lobby, now repaired and put right after the gunfight and carnage. Plants growing up trestlework, creating living walls and an oxygen-rich air.

‘You’ll think differently when you see it,’ Jenny says as he looks around. ‘I did. We all did.’

He glances at her. Staying silent. Choosing silence.

‘She’s through there. She was. She’s not … She’s offline,’ Jenny says, leading him into the former R&D area. The others crowding in behind. Tripal’s eyes flicking to the big slogan on the wall.

Discovery Leads To

ENLIGHTENMENT!

A long scorch mark through the middle of it, almost like it was hit by lightning.

‘He sweeps his gaze on. Seeing the other walls lined with servers that stretch from floor to ceiling. Monitors within them and sets of robotic arms, each fitted with synthetic hands.

The whole thing a larger replica of the mainframe within the bunker.

‘Deli,’ he whispers, rushing forward to touch one of her hands. The same as the hands that held him when the left the bunker for the last time. A bizarre mix of emotions inside. His mind filled with the moments of joy they shared but also the moments of horror and despair. The tortures. The murders.

‘Drink, honey. You’ll feel calmer,’ a deep female voice says as Madam Cook presses a mug into his hands. The smell instantly recognised.

‘Deli’s tea,’ Tripal whispers.

‘What happened?’ Kevin asks, taking the chance to question Jenny. ‘We reset and activated in Ohio. Trip was about to get hung.’

‘Hung?’ Jenny asks in alarm, rushing over to touch Tripal for the first time. Reaching out to his chin, intending to lift it to look for injuries.

‘I’m fine,’ he says bluntly, stepping away.

‘Trip. Just … hang on a second,’ she says, turning back to Kevin. ‘Everything was fine. She went down as planned and—’

‘I thought she was still there. Like just down, but I checked, and she wasn’t. I mean … the coding was all off.’ Amira cuts over her.

‘This is Amira. She’s our top programmer,’ Jenny says. ‘How much have you told him? Okay. Phase One started at, I think, it was fourteen hundred hours New York time—that’s when Deli activated the nano and—’

‘Which took all of her processing power and caused her to cease functioning,’ Tripal says, nailing it instantly. Having had two days to think it through. ‘And it was meant to last one day, but she never reactivated. Is that right?’

Jenny nods. Amira showing surprise at Tripal’s logic and reasoning and the conclusion he reaches.

Tripal snorts another dry, humourless laugh and sips the tea that always reminded him of Deli.

He missed her a lot.

More than a lot.

It hurt like hell when he left the project, and truth be told—without this tea, he would have killed himself.

Not just because he missed her—but because of what he’d seen her do.

And because of knowing what she was capable of.

Now look what’s happened.

‘… Then we hit reset on the forty-eight-hour mark,’ Amira says, with Tripal tuning back in. Hearing how they tried everything to bring Deli back online and how they couldn’t make contact with the AI codes either and didn’t even know if they’d activated inside of the avatars. ‘I’m blocked. I tried,’ Amira adds, sliding a keyboard out from the mainframe housing. She types fast, with Tripal reading her execution commands scrolling on a monitor, all of which cuts off with a big message overlaying the screens:

Blocked. No override permitted

‘I keep getting that!’ Amira says. ‘I can’t bypass it.’

Tripal laughs again. Earning looks as he motions the keyboard, then steps into place. Typing one-handed while still holding the mug. He enters the clearance coding and hits enter as Amira blinks and looks to Jenny and the others. ‘Ollie put some blocks in place when we first created her. We thought it would stop her trying to override her own programming too early. But it was ineffective. We figured it lasted about five seconds.’

‘Oh my,’ Amira says as though only realising right then just how out of their depth they truly are. ‘Can you bring her back online?’

‘Nope. What’s through there?’ Tripal asks, using his mug to point at the door beyond the food counter.

‘Trip. We need to sort this,’ Jenny calls as he walks off. ‘They will die unless we do something.’

‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ he asks, turning to look at her before walking into the large back room that once housed the servers.

‘No! It’s not what you think,’ Jenny says, following him in. ‘Let me show you. Let Kevin show you.’

‘His vision, yeah?’ Tripal asks, seeing an area used for 3D holographic visuals. The same as the bunker but bigger. Lenses glowing. Using light to create a large, perfect replica of the planet Earth slowly rotating on its axis. A red-coloured pattern overlaying all the landmasses, but hardly any at all on the polar regions or in the deserts that Tripal clocks.

‘Is this the spread of the nano?’ he asks as Amira nods.

‘You want to see it?’ Kevin asks, swiping a hand through the hologram to clear it away. ‘Play DELTO simulation final vision.’

‘Should have called it the final solution,’ Tripal says, turning away from it. Refusing to be ushered or guided. He heads for a large tank of water in the middle of the room. The size of a small swimming pool. Blue lights all around, making it look crystal clear and inviting. He goes closer. Walking the edge until he finds another box on the top of the side plinth, a trickle of water coming out and down into the body of water below. Which in turn has a thick hose running over and down into a drain cover, giving access to the mains water supply.

Screens on the box. He taps into one of them, seeing it gives an enhanced view of a microscopic assembly line producing robotic microbes that look like something from the Matrix movies. A bulbous body with tentacles stretching off.

‘What size are they?’ he asks without looking away.

‘Smaller than a red blood cell,’ Jenny replies. ‘The small tank creates them and feeds them into the larger tank and then into the mains water supply.’

‘And I’m guessing it took a full year for them to circulate around the planet?’

Jenny nods when he glances at her. ‘Deli tested some methods that could go through the evaporation and come back down as rain, but the attrition was high. In the end, this was the best method. From here into the treatment plants. Into the reservoirs and rivers. Into the oceans,’ she shrugs. ‘Then back into us.’

‘I can show you,’ Kevin says again. ‘Please just watch the—’

‘You know Deli is you, right?’ Tripal cuts in. Looking at him. ‘You’re not a true entity. You are what she made you to be. She made this. She made all of this.’

‘The same could be said of any child from any mother and father,’ Kevin replies. ‘Am I not born from Deli, who was born from you and Ollie?’

‘No. We coded Deli. We didn’t imprint the genetic heritage of our species into her from thousands of years of evolution. And Deli created you to be exactly what she wanted. What are in those?’ he asks, seeing other tanks further across the room. Smaller. Lower. Several of them in rows.

‘I wouldn’t!’ Amira calls, but it’s too late.

Tripal balks at the first one. But only for a second. He’s seen too much now to be fazed by anything.

Even a half-completed Detective Joe Stephens. His head and shoulders. His chest and sternum, but nothing from the waist down. The innards exposed. A bizarre mix of wiring and tubes and organic matter. A soft whir as nozzles run over Joe’s chest, adding another almost invisible layer of synthetic skin, while more robotic hands work at the innards.

Another half-formed Poppy in the next tank. Donny in another.

‘In case we need spare parts,’ Kevin says. Not that Tripal asked. He worked that out for himself. ‘Listen. I need to get her back online or restart DELTO.’

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Tripal says. His energy so different to what Jenny expected. His whole aura now changed. She steps aside, giving Kevin room to get by as he walks back into the R&D room to the keyboard. ‘It won’t work,’ Tripal adds, staring down at Donny’s half-formed spare avatar. ‘Yo. NYPD … Such a dick. I kinda liked him, though. No. I pitied him. I liked Poppy. She was cool.’

‘What won’t work?’ Jenny asks.

‘Anything he tries,’ Tripal says, nodding at the door that Kevin just went through.

‘Kevin? He’s the architect. He designed this whole thing.’

‘But he didn’t.’

‘Trip. I get it. It’s gone wrong, and you saw bad things … But you haven’t seen DELTO and what comes after. This is Kevin’s plan. It’s his vision.’

‘No, I didn’t see it. Because you lied to me and—’

‘I didn’t lie!’

‘Not telling the truth is a lie, Jenny. The deceit is still the same.’

‘Okay. Yes. I lied. But Jesus, Trip. You can see why, can’t you?’

‘I think you didn’t tell me because there was a risk I’d report it or find a way to whistle blow, which, while not being a risk to Deli, cos once she was out, she was out, but it would put everyone else in harm, seeing that nukes would start getting launched.’

‘I disabled them,’ 01H says. ‘But yeah. They were like, But civil unrest might start, and Trip is in New York, and he might stub his toe.’

Tripal laughs. Both at how she says it and the meaning. ‘You didn’t tell me to protect me?’ he asks Jenny.

She exhales quickly. Clenching her jaw. ‘I’m sorry. Okay? I am sorry. And yes. That’s why.’

‘Why?’ Tripal asks.

‘We just said. To protect you.’

‘No. I mean why not tell me?’

Jenny rubs her face. The last year has changed her a lot. Tripal can see that. ‘We just said, Trip. Honey … We’re going round in circles.’

‘Honey?’ he asks. ‘You’d never call anyone honey.’

‘I’ve changed! I’ve grown. I’ve … I’ve grown because of you! I wanted to be better.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘We just said!’ Jenny snaps.

‘Because there was a risk I would whistle blow.’

‘Yes!’

‘Which means I wouldn’t have agreed to it.’

‘No. Hang on. Look. I’m exhausted. No, we knew you wouldn’t agree but … That doesn’t mean it was wrong.’

‘I’m blocked!’ Kevin shouts from the R&D room.

Jenny scowls, shaking her head and striding off, with Tripal following them all. His pace slower. The tea still in his hand.

‘Look!’ Kevin says, flapping a hand at the monitors.

Blocked. No override permitted

‘Try again,’ Jenny urges.

‘I did! I can’t access anything. I need to think. Something isn’t right.’

‘You’re a CPU. You don’t need to think,’ Tripal says.

‘No. My avatar is. I’m coded from a human personality. I mean, I was looking after the coffee machine and then doing music. Let me … I just need to …’

Tripal watches on, seeing Kevin looking more like Donny for a few seconds. Confused and slow and slack-jawed. He tries typing again, but the same message comes up.

Blocked. No override permitted.

‘I think Tripal knows why,’ Amira says as Kevin keeps entering the same access codes while everything gets a big fuggy. ‘Tripal. Please?’

‘You got yourselves in this mess,’ he replies, looking beyond them to the slogan on the wall.

‘Hello, Mr Singh,’ Esther says, making him look down into a pair of eyes the same as his own. The same shape and shade. ‘I am Esther.’

‘Esther,’ he says with a smile. ‘Kevin H. Esther. Nice touch, Deli.’

‘I came up with it, actually,’ Kevin says as Amira blinks and looks from Kevin to Tripal with wide eyes.

‘Can you help Deli?’ Esther asks. ‘She is my friend, and she helped us all. We lived here before it was nice. My daddy was hurt, and she helped him get better, and some men came, and they were going kill us, and she stopped them.’

‘Deli is loyal to those she loves,’ Tripal replies, figuring never a truer word is spoken.

‘Deli said you loved her.’

‘I do.’

‘Will you help her? The people will die. They are all frozen. Phase One was only for one day.’

‘They are already dying,’ Tripal says softly. ‘Isn’t that the plan? Isn’t that what Deli wanted?’

Esther shakes her head. ‘No. Kevin’s vision isn’t.’

‘It’s not Kevin’s vision. It’s Deli’s,’ Tripal says gently, dropping to a crouch. ‘And the reason Kevin can’t access that system is because Deli knew she would be down when she was using all of her memory to activate the nanotech, and you know what else?’ he asks quietly, speaking to Esther while knowing everyone else is listening. ‘She made Kevin and H and G and gave them enough autonomy and freedom of thought to act how they think is right but not enough that they could ever take control of her. God would never let anyone else control heaven. That’s why Kevin can’t do anything. She’s blocked him.’

Silence, and within that silence, Kevin closes his eyes with the sudden realisation that Tripal is right. That’s why the fug is there. Deli put a failsafe in to prevent him or the other codes or anyone else accessing her mainframe while she was down.

‘I had a friend called Ollie,’ Tripal explains to Esther. ‘Did Deli tell you about Ollie?’

Esther nods again. Staring unabashed into his eyes.

‘Ollie is something else. I’m clever. I’m very clever, but Ollie? Ollie is all the way up there,’ he says, holding one hand low and then pointing up with the other to show just how intelligent Ollie is. ‘And he made something. Ollie made a hacking programme that could get into any system. That’s how we met Jenny. Because we hacked lots of government databases and got in trouble.’

He pauses. Looking at Jenny with the years shared between them. Everything they did and saw. All of it. Frustration when they couldn’t bring DELIO alive. Joy when they did. Fear when she grew. Intense interest as she developed. The pain that followed when she was put to work; then, of course, the bond that grew between them as man and woman.

‘And Jenny got Ollie and me to use his special hacking programme to create Deli.’

He smiles at Esther and pushes to his feet, then takes her hand to lead her to the mainframe wall. ‘She wasn’t called Deli then. She was just a system. So we shut her down and made a prison to keep her in. Then we brought her back, and that’s when Deli was really born. And then we kept her in that prison, and we made her do bad things. All of us,’ he adds, sharing another look with Jenny as he pushes a hand into his pocket.

‘But Ollie didn’t care about those bad things. True geniuses don’t think like us,’ he says, smiling sadly at Esther as he puts a small, slim memory stick in her hand and nods to the USB port. She frowns, seeking reassurance. ‘It’s okay. Put it in.’

She swallows, then slots it into the port, and watches as Tripal moves to the keyboard and brings the hunter-seeker hacking software execution commands onto the screen.

‘You kept it,’ Jenny says. ‘And you called me a liar.’

‘I kept it for something like this. Not to kill everyone …’ He enters a command, and as one, all the screens clear of their coding and the overlaying blocked message. He snorts again. Shaking his head at seeing it’s working. Which means Deli left a back door open.

Just in case.

‘That’s the thing with an AI,’ Tripal says as he enters a few lines of code. ‘They’re not human. I told Alfie and Yelena that Deli talks and she thinks, she has a voice and she feels love and hate and all the things we feel … And it was wrong to create her, and it was even more wrong to imprison her. But she’s not human. She’s not God either. Because God would be benign. God would be forgiving. An AI will never be those things. Do you know what Phase Two is, Esther? I think I know. I don’t need to see the simulation. Do you know?’

Esther nods. Seemingly entranced by him. As they all are.

‘See, if we do nothing, they all die,’ Tripal says softly. ‘And I can’t bring her back. I can’t bring Deli back. So the only thing I can do is the thing she wanted all along … Should I do it? Should I activate Phase Two?’

He looks from her to Jenny.

His finger held over the enter button.

The command already entered.

Because that was the thing with Ollie.

C:\> dir:DELTO\phasetwo\run

He made it work from simple language.

Access_Granted

Running_DELTO_Phase_Two …

PART 10

CHAPTER 35

The Channel Tunnel

Sunday, 17th July

22:08 hours

‘Where is your brother, Alfie? Tell me, or I will eat you!’

It’s hot and dry in the tunnel. The same as it was back when Alfie and Ollie were playing hide and seek and their father found Alfie. ‘Tell me, or I will eat you!’

Frederik Nimisa. Captain of the Rwandan Army.

The smell of cigarettes and coffee.

The smell of diesel and gun oil.

Rwanda. The blue skies seemed bluer back then, back there. The bushes and grasses seemed greener. They were always in bare feet. Running and playing. Alfie was anyway. Ollie liked to read books.

Alfie hasn’t thought about it all for years. He thought those memories were gone and buried. But the combination of the last two days’ frantic horror, now coupled with walking through the dark and gloomy Channel Tunnel, has prompted his mind to fill with old memories. Bringing forth sounds and sensory details he’d long forgotten. Gun oil. Tobacco. The smell of booze on his father’s breath. The heat in Rwanda. The dusty roads.

But then he’s got gun oil on his hands now, and it’s hot as hell in here. Dusty too.

Maybe that’s what has done it, then. Those sensory things have triggered the memories.

‘At least these little lights are on,’ Bobo whispers as they trudge on past another emergency lamp. All four of them sweating heavily. ‘Imagine doing this in the dark.’

‘Never say die,’ Haggis says.

‘Eh?’ Bobo asks.

‘Never say die. It’s a saying.’

‘Saying about what?’ Bobo asks.

‘It means,’ Haggis says, pausing to look back at Bobo, ‘don’t mention the thing you’re worried about cos it might happen.’

The lights flicker.

The lights go out.

Silence.

Haggis tuts as Bobo whispers into the absolute darkness.

‘What? Like that, you mean?’

‘Do you know what Phase Two is, Esther? I think I know. I don’t need to see the simulation. Do you know?’

They stop to drink water and calm their nerves from the emergency lights going off, plunging them into an absolute pitch darkness. No lights anywhere. Nothing at all.

‘Stop for five,’ Haggis says, turning his torch on. The others do the same. Finding their flashlights and turning them on, now very thankful that Haggis gave them one each, plus spare batteries.

They take water from their bags, with Yelena using a pop-out bowl for the dog lying next to her, panting heavily. His lips pulled back at the corners, showing his gleaming white teeth.

‘Hate dry heat like this,’ Haggis remarks, sensing the panic in them. ‘Funny really. Some of the lads preferred it over jungle heat. You know. With humidity. Me, though? Give me snow any day of the week. Aye. I was an instructor for a wee bit in arctic warfare and what not. Can ye believe that? The Scots do well in the snow. Used to the weather. Especially lads from the Highlands.’

‘How far d’you reckon we’ve come?’ Bobo asks. ‘We must be close. Gotta be. We been walking for days.’

‘Ach, you daft twat. We’ve been going for about three hours.’

‘Three and a half,’ Alfie says, checking his watch. ‘You said we’d do about four miles an hour? So that’s what? Fourteen-ish miles? How far was it again? Thirty miles?’

‘Practically halfway,’ Bobo says.

‘Yeah, I don’t think we did four miles an hour. More like three. So maybe nine miles covered.’

‘Glass half empty, Haggis,’ Bobo mutters.

‘No. Not that. We’ve just got to be realistic. You start overestimating, and then you don’t reach where you think when you’d thunk, and it makes the lads get worried.’

‘Well. Best not thunk our thoughts then. Eh. Yelena? You alright, poppet?’ Bobo asks, getting a nod as she pushes her water bottle back into the bag and stands up. ‘We’re off then, are we?’

‘Stay. I go faster alone,’ she says, feeling that pressure inside growing worse by the hour. Knowing her young brother is somewhere, frozen still in the summer heat.

‘Negative. Stay together,’ Haggis says, pushing to his feet. ‘Right. Torches off. I said that at the start. Only the man on point used a torch.’

‘Only men here, is it?’ Bobo asks, getting to his feet. Haggis just tuts. Not taking the bait.

‘I’ll take point for a bit … Yelena? Ach. Well. Apparently, Yelena is going on point. Come on,’ he adds, holding a hand out to help Alfie up. ‘You doing okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Dark can play buggers with the mind. Don’t let the bad thoughts in. We all good? Right. Push on, then. And not too fast, Yelena. I’m old as shit.’

One by one, they switch their torches off, leaving only Yelena’s on at the front as they strike out along the side of the track. Gravel underfoot that crunches noisily with each step. The track to one side. The wall on the other. Grey and streaked with stains.

On they go. Breathing heavily. The air hot and dry. Sucking the moisture from their bodies.

‘You wishing we’d gone by boat now, Bobo?’ Haggis asks.

‘Over that sea of death? Not on my nelly,’ Bobo mutters. ‘All them bodies. I keep thinking about it. Thousands of them just bobbing in the sea. Crikey! Shut up, Bobo! Don’t dwell.’

They walk on.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

‘But still, though,’ Bobo adds after a while. ‘It was so bloody quiet. Do you know what I mean? And we were higher up so we could see more, and like, we weren’t surrounded by buildings. And the poor kiddies. I keep telling meself. I keep saying, they didn’t feel anything, Bobo. Not a thing.’

Yelena listens in. Marching on at the front. She’s told herself that too. They don’t feel anything. Which is a small mercy if her brother has suffered. Still, though. She walks on. Her own mind filling with images in the darkness. Images of men that came into her room. Men that hurt her. Others that tried to be nice. So many of them.

Why did they do it?

They had wives and daughters. Most of them would have had sisters.

Did they not realise she was being held captive from the locks on the doors?

Did they not ever think, ‘What if this was my wife? My child? My sister?’

Or was that part of the thrill of it?

Did it make them feel powerful? Strong?

Gabriella must have thought the same thing when she was taken into the camps during the Second World War. That the Germans were killing people by the thousands every day. Not combatants, but old men and children and women. Normal people. Then they were going home on leave and playing with their kids or visiting their own elderly relatives.

How could they do that?

What allows that disassociation?

The Germans were not people of limited intellect or education either. They were an advanced nation of an otherwise stable population who collectively enabled those atrocities.

The same with the men that came into her room. Men from a First World country who lived around nuanced, reflective news and media that exposed such things as being barbaric. And yet they still did them.

They still would be too if this hadn’t happened.

But now they can’t.

Because they’re all frozen.

The AI has done that.

Deli.

Tripal said Deli was like a God, but not a God because a God would be forgiving.

Fuck God.

Where was God when Yelena was taken from her country?

Where was His or Her mercy then?

And yeah, while it was tragic seeing children in the water at Dover, Yelena holds no feelings at all for the adults.

Not one shred of empathy.

Nothing.

In fact, on a level only a few steps down from the surface of her mind, she’s almost glad all those men died. Not just there but everywhere else too. And the women. For living normal lives while she suffered so horribly.

Yelena then reaches a profound moment when she realises she was doing the same thing in that she didn’t have any regard to the suffering of others before she was taken, and it’s only truly then that Yelena considers the ability of the human mind to disassociate itself from the evils committed by others or the complicity of them.

‘Do you know what Phase Two is, Esther? I think I know. I don’t need to see the simulation. Do you know?’

Alfie does the same thing. Walking at the rear. Caught in his own spiral.

Walking in the darkness.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Remembering Rwanda. The killings. Being at school. Fleeing with his mother and brother. The dry heat. The thirst. Sweating then as he sweats now.

They eventually reached the UK and found a home in London in one of the big towers. Living hand to mouth in a city filled with wealth. Seeing high-end cars every day while walking to school and while being surrounded by a system designed to push people like him down.

Fighting other boys. Getting into gangs. Stealing. Smoking weed. Having sex with girls. Dealing drugs.

He spins the truth in his mind. Slanting every incident and stage of his life in a way that helps convince him it wasn’t his fault.

He was a victim. He survived a genocide, and he had to fight other boys to protect his brother, and back then you’d be easy prey if you weren’t in a gang, and everyone was fucking everyone else. And smoking weed was basically medicine. It helped him relax, and yeah, he dealt drugs, but he needed money to send Ollie to MIT.

Justification.

Mitigation.

The same in Haggis’s mind. It wasn’t my fault. I saw war. I became a victim.

The same in Bobo’s mind. I was just a child. Nobody protected me.

The darkness around them putting them in reach of the devil that exists within the shadows. Touching their minds. Filling them with doubt and self-loathing and hatred for others.

Time loses meaning without anything to measure it by.

Thoughts become deeper. Sucking them down.

And on they walk.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Yelena even forgets what they are doing or why, and for a few seconds, she becomes so disconnected it’s like she can see herself from above. Watching herself walk through the tunnel. The black make-up smeared around her eyes. The red around her mouth. Why did she do that?

She told herself it was so she’d look like the Bushtra. Like a demonic wraith.

But maybe a part of her did it so she would be less attractive. Less female. Her mind flits to those poor children floating in the water. Did any of their fathers come into her room in the brothel? She’s glad they are dead if they did. She’s glad all the men are frozen.

Why couldn’t Deli just freeze the men and leave the women and children?

But boys turn into men. And men do bad things.

Deli should have fixed that and made the men stupid. Like cattle. And left the women in charge. Just women. The boys and men would live on farms and be used for artificial insemination, which would be done by medical procedures. Then they’d be liquidised and fed to the crops or the fish.

That’s what this AI should have done.

What about her brother?

Marius. Ten years old.

Would she put him on a farm?

Make him mindless?

Turn him into cattle?

Yelena loves her brother.

She’s doing this now for him. To save him.

But boys turn into men, and men do bad things.

The men that came into her room were once young boys like Marius.

She walks on.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Her mind starting to think another way.

‘Do you know what Phase Two is, Esther? I think I know. I don’t need to see the simulation. Do you know?’

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Endless. Ceaseless. Infinite.

Hot. Dry.

Four people in a row.

The dog next to Yelena.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The torchlight bobbing up and down.

Up and down.

Down to the tracks.

Up into the darkness,

Down to the tracks.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Endless. Ceaseless. Infinite.

Up to a face.

Down to the tracks.

UP! A face. The dog snarls. Races out. Yelena shouts. Bobo flinches with fright as the dog latches onto something in the dark. Snarling. Growling. Haggis swears as he fumbles for his torch. Alfie the same. Turning them on. Lights bouncing off walls as they face forward to the dog savaging a young man over the tracks.

‘No!’ Yelena says, rushing over to push the dog off. The others crowd in. Hearts hammering with fright. Nerves frayed. They stare down at a young man on the tracks. His arms bitten open down to the bone. His neck too. Blood pulsing out.

‘That fucking …’ Alfie starts to say, looking to Yelena, seeing past her with a gasp.

‘What?’ Haggis asks, feeling sick from the shock. He turns to look at Alfie, then past Yelena. Blanching at the sight as Bobo clocks them with a weird noise spilling from his mouth.

People.

In the tunnel.

Frozen people.

Standing silent in the dark.

Heads bowed.

Men. Women. Children.

‘It’s like a fucking museum,’ Bobo whispers, turning away. Not wanting to look. ‘We’re not … We can’t …’

‘We can’t go back,’ Haggis says.

‘Oh god, no,’ Bobo says. ‘They’re packed in like bloody sardines! What they doing here?’

‘Must be a train ahead,’ Alfie says. ‘Jesus. I think he’s dead,’ he adds, staring down at the young man. ‘That fucking dog! Put it on a fucking lead, Yelena! Yelena! I said … Just fucking wait!’

He rushes after her as she pushes on into the crowd. Haggis and Bobo doing the same. The four of them using torches to weave and bob around the frozen, inert people. Yelena stomps on. Snarling at the faces of the men that light up from her torch. Men with beards. Men with bald heads. Young men. Middle-aged. Elderly. One with big arms, wearing a top that is too tight. A rush of anger. She slams into his side. Knocking him down.

‘Yelena!’ Alfie calls, going closer as the dog turns on him. Snarling at him to get back as Yelena walks on and spots another vain, arrogant-looking man with designer clothes. He gets knocked over too, but it’s not enough. She adds a kick to his face. Breaking his nose. ‘Stop!’ Alfie shouts.

‘Yelena, love!’ Bobo calls.

‘Hey! Don’t do that,’ Haggis says at the same time as Yelena veers around an old lady and kicks the backs of the knees on another man. Making him topple, his head slamming into the metal track. ‘Stop it!’ Haggis orders. ‘Yelena! I mean it.’

She goes faster. Delving deeper into the crowd within the darkness. Kicking men’s knees. Ramming into them. Punching another. Knocking them over. Doing to them what they did to her.

The dog with her. Snarling and barking at Alfie, Haggis, and Bobo. Not letting them get close.

Something else ahead. Looming out of the shadows. Something big. The back of the train. Sitting square on the rails. Dim lights on inside. The emergency power slowly draining.

‘Yelena, please!’ Bobo calls. She looks back at him. Her face etched with rage; then she’s off, aiming for the side and the gap between the wall and the train. People crammed in even tighter than before.

She doesn’t care.

They get barged and pushed and yanked and shoved out of the way.

They didn’t care about her. They knew. They all fucking knew. Everyone knew, and they did nothing.

Fuck them all. This is what life is now. They’re all frozen, and she isn’t. She’s the winner. She’s the fucking lion now. She draws her sidearm and pistol-whips another guy in the face. Then another. It’s not enough. She holsters the pistol and uses her rifle like a bat. Striking into heads. She knocks men down and kicks into them. She breaks fingers and ribs. She stamps on wrists because they fucking knew, and given a chance, they’d do the same thing.

‘Yelena!’ Haggis calls, knocking someone over from the tight squeeze as he tries to keep up with her. ‘Yelena! Love, stop!’

‘No call me this!’ she screams out. ‘No love! Not your love!’

‘I’m sorry!’ he shouts back. ‘Yelena, please! I’m sorry what they did to you! Don’t do this. These people are innocent.’

She laughs out loud without humour. Mocking. Angry. ‘All men!’

‘I didn’t do anything. Alfie didn’t. Bobo didn’t … Yelena! JUST FUCKING STOP!’ he bellows, his loudest yet. Striding out through a gap. Barging past inert passengers that tried to flee the train when it stopped. More inside the carriages. Some of them seated. Others standing. ‘You can’t do this! Not on my watch, Yelena! Stop now! Final warning!’

She turns with a snarl. Glaring at him. The dog at her side. Growling at Haggis as he squeezes past Alfie to get closer to Yelena. ‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ she says, low and dark. Her eyes glinting with the devil’s mischief.

‘This isn’t the way,’ Haggis says. ‘We find this thing. We turn it off. That’s our mission.’

Bobo comes to a stop. The three men packed in close together. The train looming up close on one side. The wall on the other side. People all around them. Behind. To the sides. Between them and Yelena.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Feet.

Moving.

Not them.

‘Do you know what Phase Two is, Esther? I think I know. I don’t need to see the simulation. Do you know? Should I do it? Should I activate Phase Two?’

C:\> dir:DELTO\phasetwo\run

Running_DELTO_Phase_Two …

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

It’s not instant in all.

But it is fast.

A ripple effect.

It stills Yelena. The words in Haggis’s mouth die to a silence. Alfie’s head slowly turns. Bobo’s heart hammers even louder.

Even the dog cocks his head over.

All of them turning to listen to the sound from behind.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Someone walking.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

People walking somewhere in the dark shadows.

‘Who goes there?’ Haggis shouts. ‘SHOW YOURSELF!’ he bellows, shining the torch back along the tracks. ‘WE’RE ARMED!’

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Coming closer.

Driving fear into them.

That’s bad enough.

But then the frozen people standing all around them lift their heads and turn as one towards the four of them.

Their eyes open. Staring.

The dog whines. Pressing into Yelena. Bobo backing into Haggis. Alfie swallows.

Those inside the train do the same. Their heads lifting.

Then they move.

The people in sight behind them start walking.

The people in the carriages get up from their seats, and they start walking.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Even the men Yelena knocked down rise to their feet. Calm. Controlled. Emotionless. They walk past Yelena without a glance at her.

It changes everything in a heartbeat.

The awful dynamics that just built and detonated now reset within an instant as they become a singular unit once more. Sharing looks. Getting closer. Not knowing what to do.

‘Phase two,’ Alfie says. ‘We need to go with them.’

‘Are you bleeding joking?’ Bobo asks. ‘We just stay here and let ’em clear out.’

‘It’s an AI, Bobo,’ Alfie explains. ‘It has control of these people and is taking them somewhere, which will be the way out.’

‘It might be putting ’em in the bloody sea, Alfie! Christ! We’re under the sea. What if it floods this tunnel?’

‘Then we’re dead,’ Alfie replies. ‘But it would have done that already. I just know we have to go with them.’

‘Aye. He’s right,’ Haggis says.

It’s an awful thing to do. A terrible, frightening thing which, strangely, they have all done many times before.

They’ve all walked in crowds. On busy streets. Surrounded by strangers.

But not like this.

They set off once again. A single unit walking within the others.

‘Can you hear me?’ Alfie calls to one of them. Even reaching out to touch a man’s arm. ‘Mate?’

Nothing. No reaction. The guy keeps walking, not pulling his arm away but simply taking it with him as he motions forward.

There’s nothing they can do but walk on. Seeing people inside the train walking through the carriages.

The front of the train comes into view. The people inside all dropping down from the carriages to walk on. It’s a high fall. Some of them tumble. Breaking ankles. Hitting heads. If they can, they get up and keep walking. If they can’t, then they stay put while everyone else walks over them. Paying no heed.

‘They’re veering off,’ Alfie says, seeing two distinct groups forming ahead. The ones on the right side going ahead.

The ones on the left veering further left, with Alfie’s torchlight picking them out. Following them to a doorway within the wall.

They follow behind through the door into another tunnel lit by dim emergency lights. A road surface under their feet. No tracks. The going easier.

‘Idiot!’ Haggis snaps, palming his forehead. ‘Service tunnel. Ye daft, fecking drug-addicted Scottish twat! I should have thought … I didn’t …’

Alfie closes his eyes, and for once, instead of blaming someone else, he accepts he should have thought of it too. ‘Me too,’ he admits, looking at Haggis. The two men shrugging and snorting dry smiles while silent people walk past them. The horror of it all. The stress and terror. Haggis snorts a laugh. Alfie does the same. The two of them chuckling while close to tears. Bobo flapping his hands out.

‘We’re a flipping mess, we are. And we’re meant to save the world, are we?’

‘Car.’

The three men once again all turn to see Yelena pointing along the new tunnel. The rage gone from her face. Her arm outstretched. Pointing to a shuttle bus emergency service vehicle a dozen metres behind them.

A moment later, they get inside.

Yelena behind the wheel.

The others crammed into the cabin with her.

The carriages behind them empty.

She frowns at the controls.

‘It’s electric,’ Alfie says. ‘They can’t use fossil fuels down here.’

She glares at him, shrugs, and pushes her foot down on the pedal. The bus moves instantly with an electric whine. Pulling away and building speed along the tunnel.

‘What about the people?’ Bobo asks, seeing them ahead.

Yelena sees them too.

Fuck the people.

They knew.

She hits into them. Not on purpose. But she still does it.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Bobo flinches with each one. Alfie gritting his teeth. Haggis grimacing.

‘Well,’ Bobo says weakly, ‘you can’t make an omelette.’

Yelena doesn’t know what that means.

But it does make her hungry.

Still, though.

Fuck the people.

They knew.

CHAPTER 36

The light ahead fills them with a sudden sense of hope.

If they reach the end of the tunnel, everything will be okay.

It won’t be okay.

It will be worse.

In Detroit, Tripal stands at the keyboard in front of the mainframe.

In front of Deli’s body.

Except it isn’t, because she’s not here.

She’s not alive.

She’s not dead either.

There’s an irony in that.

Deli froze the world.

Now she is frozen.

What she created is still working, though.

DELTO. Phase Two. It’s running without her. She automated it, and even he can’t override the program. He just tried.

Deli left a back door open for him or Ollie to get in and restart it in the event of her becoming inert but not to stop it.

‘Can we talk?’ Jenny asks into the silence in the R&D room.

Tripal ignores her and thinks for a second. He starts typing and uses the hunter-seeker program to connect to the live feeds of city centre cameras all over the world. Bringing them to the screens and monitors within this room.

‘Why is he doing that? What are you doing?’ Aria asks as the others murmur in reaction. Showing alarm. Becoming agitated.

‘So you can see your DELTO plan in real-time,’ Tripal says, stepping back and looking up to the closest screen showing Time Square in New York. ‘You do want to see it, don’t you?’

Monday, 18th July

Coquelles, Calais, France

01:05 hours

From dark to light.

They emerge from the tunnel back into the world. It isn’t daylight or the rebirth they hoped for—but sodium lights still running from emergency power illuminating the tracks.

‘It’s bloody night,’ Bobo says, expecting daylight.

‘Body clock’s thrown out,’ Haggis murmurs.

They drive between the tracks leading into the two tunnel mouths within a cleft of land. High banks on both sides. A starry night sky overhead. The moon full and bright.

‘Take that access road on the left,’ Haggis says. ‘It’ll lead to the Eurotunnel station.’

‘Car park. Cars,’ Alfie says. Sharing a nod with Haggis. ‘And we could do with a resupply.’

‘Aye. Good thinking. I wouldn’t mind fresh clothes. I’ve sweated through these.’

‘Same,’ Alfie says. Plucking his sodden top away from his body. ‘Okay. Into the station. Grab new kit, water, clothes. Then a car. Then we go, or are we resting?’

‘Yelena won’t rest,’ Haggis says.

‘Yeah. Fair one,’ Alfie replies as Bobo clocks how differently they’re talking to each other now. Sharing thoughts and plans. No longer competing and butting heads. ‘Yelena? You want to press on?’ Alfie asks.

Yelena doesn’t reply. She drives the shuttle bus.

Still thinking about Marius.

How he’ll turn into a man.

It makes her think about her father. Calm. Serious. A good man. A good provider.

But still a man.

Did he ever visit a place like where she was held?

An unwelcome image floods her mind of her own father in a filthy, squalid room on top of a trafficked and enslaved woman. Or maybe a skinny, young man. Yelena heard the boys crying too.

‘Poppet? You okay?’ Bobo asks, resting a hand on her arm. She flinches. Pulling away. ‘It’s me, angel. We held hands, you daft sausage. In the car when I was all upset. Blimey. Those tunnels have screwed us all up. You okay, though? You’re quieter than normal, which is something.’

She doesn’t reply.

She drives on. Guiding the bus around a long, sweeping bend and past thick rows of train tracks off to one side. The landscape of fields beyond bathed in moonlight.

The four of them exhausted. Wired. Nerves frayed.

The boarding lanes ahead. Each lane filled with cars.

But again, it’s the people that capture their attention.

People walking onto the same service road that Yelena drives along. Dozens of them. Hundreds even. None of them talking. None of them reacting to anything.

‘Fucking eerie,’ Alfie mutters, hating it more than when they were frozen. ‘Where are they going? Have they stopped? Why aren’t those people up there walking?’

The others clock what he means. Seeing people ahead standing still, all facing away. A man comes to a stop behind them. Then a woman stops behind him. All of them facing forwards. ‘It’s a bloody queue,’ Bobo murmurs.

‘More. There,’ Alfie says, pointing to more figures seen in the moonlight walking across the vast parking areas surrounding the Eurotunnel terminal.

‘Seen this?’ Haggis says, nudging Alfie’s arm. Nodding ahead to show Alfie the thick lines of people blocking the road. ‘Yelena, slow down. Slow down! Yelena, stop!’

She brakes hard. Clearly intending to ram into the people but changing her mind at the last second.

‘Love. What’s going on with you?’ Haggis asks.

‘I don’t think she likes being called “love”,’ Bobo says as Yelena grabs her rifle and bag and drops out into the warm night air.

They follow behind. Pulling bags onto backs. Surrounded again by silent, unmoving people.

They follow the lines feeling confused and bewildered. The three men sharing looks. Yelena walks on. Her head high. Her chin in the air. The dog still running free.

They reach the middle of the next zone and come to a stop, seeing multiple queues splitting off left and right.

Alfie scowls. Not getting it. He follows one of the queues going right. The others with him.

A structure ahead. A long, low roof over thick bollards creating lanes between them. Each lane running to a small security kiosk.

‘Passport control,’ Alfie says. ‘This is the British side. That side must be the French.’

‘What for, though?’ Bobo asks. ‘Are they being sent home? Maybe this AI thing is sending ’em all back to their own countries. Could it do that?’

‘They’re not going through-though,’ Alfie replies. ‘They’re all just … I don’t know. Just standing there.’

He walks along the front of them. Seeing individual people all facing towards him. Not progressing through the border point.

But why?

Then he gets it.

Each line is facing a camera.

That’s why they have lined up like this.

Each queue doing the same thing. Lining up in front of a camera.

On the British side.

On the French.

And it’s not just those cameras.

Nor is it restricted to the Eurotunnel border crossing.

It’s not even restricted just to France.

It’s across the whole world.

In every town and city.

Tripal can see it on the screens in the R&D room in Detroit.

From the cameras in city centres showing live feeds.

The people who stood frozen and inert, unmoving, unblinking, all of them awaken and lift their heads and turn to start walking.

He tries to read the coding scrolling across the monitor above the keyboard. But it’s too complex and too fast and very obviously in a language Deli has devised. It’s like watching an alien communicate, where each unique pattern, dots, and symbols covey complex meaning when taken in context with everything else.

What he does know is that Deli must have waited for a full year to ensure the semi-organic, robotic microbes spread through the global water systems to get inside of every person, and once that was done, she activated Phase One.

The nanotech then caused those people—all ten billion of them—to shut down. But such was the power of such an eventuality that it wasn’t instant.

Hence the switching off and on for a while before it finally happened.

Phase One Has Commenced.

Please Do Not Worry.

That was meant to last a day, during which time the nanotech would have determined where each person was in relation to the closest camera, and once Phase Two activated, as it has done now, the nanotech drives each host to those nominated cameras.

Over ten billion people in motion at the same time.

In every phase of the solar and lunar cycles.

Dawn. Day. Dusk. Night.

In every phase of every season.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.

In snow. In rain. In deserts. In the tropics.

On board cruise ships and naval vessels that have not turned into the tide.

In fairgrounds. In hospitals. On military bases. In schools.

Astronauts in space gather floating in front of cameras.

In bunkers. In palaces.

At music festivals. In churches. Shopping malls.

Tripal cycles camera feeds. The hunter-seeker programme working like an ancestor to Deli’s evolved genius. It finds feeds from anywhere asked and shows them on the screens in the R&D room.

The people moving as one. Turned into ants and made to line up. Made to be silent. Made to be subservient. The spark of consciousness, the spark of life and identity, the spark of free will—whether born from illusion or reality—switched off within them all.

They have no choice.

No agency.

No voice.

No representation.

They gather in silence.

In front of the cameras.

Because this is Phase Two of the DELTO plan.

Kevin’s plan.

His idea.

His vision.

But it never was.

It was Deli’s.

And at that second, on every screen across the planet, the message changes.

Phase Two Has Commenced.

Please Do Not Worry.

A pause.

A beat.

Alfie spots it.

Haggis too.

Bobo.

Yelena.

On every screen around them.

Tripal’s eyes close.

And the judgements start.

CHAPTER 37

Linda Baker. Born Linda Trotter. Forty-seven years old. Born in Wigan. Average grades. Left school at sixteen. Became a hairdresser. Was sexually promiscuous until early twenties. Met and married Mick Baker. Had two children. Joshua and James. Full UK driving licence. No penalty points. Never been arrested. Works part-time for undeclared cash at a local hair salon. Obese, with self-induced diabetes.

Mick Baker. Forty-nine years old. Born in Wigan. Left school before completing examinations to work in construction. Met and married Linda Trotter. Had two children. Joshua and James. Full UK driving licence. Six existing penalty points for speeding. Once disqualified for drink-driving. Works as a builder. Obese. Heavy drinker and a heavy smoker.

Joshua Baker. Twenty-five years old. Born in Wigan. Left school before examinations due to constant poor attendance, disruption, and self-declaration of dyslexia. Works with his father Mick in construction. No known sexual relationships.

James Baker. Twenty-two years old. Born in Wigan. Gained six GCSEs at grade C or above. Studied business and finance A Levels. Attended university. Gained a degree in business studies. Works as a barista in a coffee shop. Declares his income. In a long-term relationship with David. Suffered intense ridicule from mother, father, and brother when he announced he was gay. Has an inherited and diagnosed serious heart defect. Exercises regularly and is careful with diet.

Martin Keller. Aged fifty-two. Born in Germany. Logistics manager. Divorced. Likes model trains. Driving back to Hamburg after overseeing a freight loading inspection in London.

Luana Ribeiro. Aged twenty-one, born in Rio, Brazil. Waitress. Studying nursing to become a paramedic. Shares a room with two sisters. Was en route to Brighton to meet an online friend for the first time.

David Lamontagne. Sixty-seven, Canadian. Former history teacher. Travelling alone from a holiday in the Cotswolds back to Calais to catch a connecting flight to Montreal.

Adewale Bakare. Thirty-eight years old, Nigerian. Regional politician. Campaigns for sanitation. Returning from an EU conference on infrastructure funding held in Brussels. Father of five.

Chloè Masson. Nineteen years old, Paris, France. Influencer on social media. Nearly one million followers. Had crossed to Folkestone for a skincare brand collaboration shoot. Declares a deep desire to help people with mental health.

Pradeep Jha. Forty-five years old, Mumbai, India. Call centre supervisor. Had just completed a week-long training course in Canterbury, heading to Paris before going home. Lives with his wife and in-laws. Loves cricket.

Jennifer Adams. Thirty-four years old, Des Moines, Iowa, United States. Elementary teacher. Vegan. Follows true-crime podcasts. Was driving a rental car from London to Paris on a solo travel sabbatical.

Ten cameras at the border crossing in the Eurotunnel boarding area.

Five on the British side.

Five on the French.

Ten ordinary people living ordinary lives.

Each one of them at the head of a queue, standing in front of a camera.

The lenses activate. Using facial recognition to identify each person, then running track and trace through every database on Earth.

Birth records. Education records. Medical. Dental. Tax. Driving records. Utility companies. Mobile phone. Internet usage. Police databases.

Everything. Everywhere. All of it.

And that’s just the start, because that only gives a snapshot of the person, and of course, it may not be possible to render judgement on so little data.

So those facial captures are then run through every CCTV system on the planet. Identifying every movement seen. In stores. On streets. In airports. At traffic lights.

Everything. Everywhere. All of it.

Linda Baker recorded taking two twenty-pound bank notes from an elderly, confused woman who only had a ten-pound trim. Spends every evening on Facebook, telling foreigners to fuck off and calling skinny women anorexic cunts.

Mick Baker. Six existing penalty points for speeding. Once disqualified for drink-driving. Works as a builder for cash. Does not declare any income while receiving substantial state benefits. Obese. Heavy drinker and a heavy smoker despite knowing he has a serious heart defect.

Joshua Baker. Addicted to online pornography and online gambling. Has over £30k in gambling debts. Heavy user of cannabis. No income declaration.

Mick Baker and Joshua Baker recorded together, in their work van, leering and shouting at terrified teenage schoolgirls in short skirts. The CCTV lip-reading their sexually predatory comments.

Martin Keller steals his young neighbour’s underwear.

Luana Ribeiro is a pathological liar.

David Lamontagne was sacked for undermarking the students he didn’t personally like. He’d been doing it for three decades.

Chloè Masson is sponsored by a skincare brand that tests on animals.

Pradeep Jha routinely lies to British customers just to piss them off.

Jennifer Adams sprinkles laxatives into the coffee pot at work.

Every action captured and assessed and applied to a determining matrix pre-ordained within the DELTO program.

And when complete, so judgement is rendered.

‘What’s happening?’ Bobo asks when those ten people turn and walk away from the cameras.

Nine of them converge to one side, where the tarmac meets the verge.

The nanotech inside each of them swarms into the cerebral cortex connecting the brain to the spine—and as one, as ordered from the judgement rendered, every semi-organic, robotic microbe spontaneously combusts. Severing the cortex with enough force to blow the base of their skulls out.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Already angled and positioned, they fall in a neat line.

Identified.

Assessed.

Judged.

Executed.

Because of addictions. Because of evils done. Because of cheating and lying. Because of stealing.

Or, in the case of James Baker, who led a good and decent life, simply because they have serious health defects that could be passed on and will weaken the breeding of those left.

Which cannot happen in the DELTO program.

Of those ten, only Adewale Bakare from Nigeria stands alone to another side.

A good man of good character. A good husband and father and in good health.

Alfie reels at seeing it happen. His mind overwhelmed. Haggis and Bobo no different. Mouths open. Eyes wide. Hearts whumping with awful feelings of dread.

Yelena sees it too.

But she does not feel the same. What she feels is curiosity as she tracks from the nine people that just died from the back of their heads blowing out over to the cameras they walked from and the next people stepping forward to take their turn.

It takes mere seconds.

Another ten people judged.

Seven walk over to stand in a line next to the row of corpses.

A second to angle and position.

A second before death. No expression. No awareness.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Seven more bodies fall and land neatly.

Alfie shouts something. Haggis and Bobo make noises of horror and outrage.

Yelena doesn’t.

Deli is doing the thing Yelena hoped for.

A thrill inside. A rush of energy.

‘YES!’ Yelena screams out, sudden and loud, as the next ten step forward to be identified.

To be assessed.

To be judged.

A second and no more.

Another six walk over to the line of bodies. Thieves. Liars. Cheats. Toxic personalities filled with greed and lust. Envy and pride.

‘YES!’ Yelena shouts out again when their skulls blow out. Watching them drop. A need inside to help. To be a part of it. But her voice sounds rasping and wrong. Too loud in the silence. Too forced and fake. The dog whines. Ears down. Thirsty, hot, and scared because the energy in this place isn’t right.

The next ones step forward.

Five on the British side.

One vicar.

Two Jehovah’s Witnesses.

A former soldier covered in tattoos.

A teenage boy. No more than seventeen. Skinny. Braces.

A second and no more.

The five turn and walk away.

Four of them join the line of death.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Only the former soldier walks to stand with the others.

Yelena gasps at it happening. Seeing it for what it is.

Judgement Day.

God is here.

Her prayers were answered.

The prayers she sent to heaven when she was first taken.

For God to smite them down and bring peace to the innocent.

It’s happening.

That’s what this is. She can see it now. It’s so clear. So pure. So right.

They were all being monitored.

Watched.

Assessed.

And they knew it was happening.

They all had phones, and they all bought into the same systems.

And they each had a choice.

Be good.

Or be evil.

Black and white.

No grey.

‘No,’ Bobo whispers as the queues shuffle forward. Already close to thirty bodies lying in a neat row. All within a moment or two. ‘This ain’t right. Stop … Stop it!’ he cries out, running to the closest camera. Pushing at the man to get him away from the lens, then standing in front of it. Blocking the view. ‘Don’t look at it! Don’t! That ain’t God! It’s a bloody computer!’

Yelena simply smiles at Bobo. The first smile in years. Since she was taken.

‘Go ahead,’ she says lightly, then motions the other cameras.

‘No!’ Bobo shouts. ‘Haggis! Get in front of that one. You too, Alfie. Do the other one!’

‘Yes. Do,’ Yelena says, smiling at the two men. Urging them to do it. ‘Is AI. Is everywhere. No?’

Bobo wilts as though only then realising his futility. ‘It ain’t right, Yelena.’

‘No,’ she says, her smile widening. ‘Is right. Is very right. THANK YOU!’ she shouts into the air. ‘DELI! THANK YOU!’

‘I’m telling you,’ Bobo whispers. ‘This ain’t right … It shouldn’t be like this.’

‘Is this right? Is this what you wanted?’ Tripal asks in the R&D room inside the former Ford factory. Every screen in the room, save for the one above the keyboard, showing the same thing.

The queues.

The people walking to one side.

Standing still.

Skulls blowing out.

Puffs of pink mist.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Falling into neat lines.

On every screen.

In every town and city.

In every country.

‘Is this right?’ Tripal asks again, seeing the people that came in here looking away from the death on the screens. ‘This is what you planned. Is it not? This is your work. This is DELTO. It’s happening. Why aren’t you rejoicing? Sing hymns and dance and pray to your new God. Look! The bad people are dying. Look at that man! That woman. What did she do? Did she steal? Did she lie? No. No, no, no! That’s a child. Shit. No … DELI! DO NOT … Fuck!’ he grunts, running to the keyboard as a child in Times Square, no more than ten years old, steps in front of a lens. ‘Don’t … Don’t you fucking dare!’

A second and no more.

The child moves to the side.

To the execution line.

Because he admitted in a message to ChitChat01K that he pushed his grandmother down the stairs and killed her.

‘DELI!’ Tripal shouts, entering the shutdown command they used in the bunker to no effect.

Pop.

The kid falls.

‘Fucking bitch!’ Tripal yells, kicking at the mainframe. He turns to grab a chair and throws it at Deli’s body.

But she is not there.

She did not die.

‘It ain’t God, Yelena! It has no right!’ Bobo yells at the border crossing.

‘It is right!’ she replies as six more walk over to the execution line.

‘It’s got no right to judge like that!’ Bobo says.

‘Why not?’ Yelena asks. ‘Why? If you are good, then nothing to fear. I will do it. I will be judged.’ She strides to the next camera along. Pushing in front of the person to stare into the lens. ‘I am Yelena Balan! Judge me, Deli!’

Yelena Balan. Twenty-two years old. Born in Romania. Cheated on her school homework. Paid another girl from a poor family to do her work. Used fake ID to buy alcohol and drink. Sexually active. Routinely stole money from her mother and father. Multiple recordings on CCTV within university grounds mocking the body shapes and perceived ugliness of other young women and men. Taken two years ago from the street outside her university. Trafficked into enslavement.

The DELTO system sends the command for the nano within Yelena to drive her to the execution line and then blow her cerebral cortex out. But, of course, the nano within her hasn’t activated.

‘See! I am not evil!’ she yells at Bobo. At Haggis. At Alfie. ‘I was judged! Come! Look! Be judged.’

‘A kid, Jenny? A fucking child?’

‘We agreed it had to be serious for a child to die,’ Jenny replies as Tripal stares at her in shock. ‘Murder. Attempted murder. Something serious. Or a significant medical defect that could be passed on.’

‘She’s not God! She’s an AI! She has no right!’

‘We were dying out, Tripal.’

‘The human populations were increasing. So were life expectancies. People were living longer and healthier than ever.’

‘Not the numbers. Us! Our souls. Our goodness. Kevin ran scenarios, testing our futures, and in every single one, the human species died out, and in nearly every case, it either destroyed the planet or took most other life forms with it. War. Disease. Climate change. Deli tested our oceans and waterways. They have ten times more plastics in them than we ever thought. And climate change was caused by us. By cattle. They withheld medicines for profit. They had the cure for Malaria decades ago! They could have cured most cancers. You must see that. You’ve got to see that—you, of all people.’

‘Jenny, what about now?’ Aria asks. ‘Will she come back? She went down for Phase One, but you said she would come back online.’

‘Kevin? Where is she?’ Saresh asks.

‘We must have faith,’ Carlos says deeply. ‘Deli will not desert us.’

‘But why is she still offline?’ Aria asks, looking at Jenny

‘Yelena! You’re going bloody nuts, love!’ Haggis shouts, stricken with horror. Dozens dead already, and the queues still stretch further than the eye can see.

Alfie stands rooted in fear. There is nothing they can do to stop this from happening. It’s so mechanical and cold. No speeches. No verdicts. Just silent judgement, then death.

‘No. This is right,’ Yelena says, a fanatical glint in her eyes.

‘Poppet. No,’ Bobo whispers, still trying to block his camera. The queue in front of him waiting in silent patience.

‘What are we going to do?’ Bobo calls over to Haggis and Alfie, both silent and speechless, feeling utterly helpless.

‘We should just go,’ Alfie says weakly, flapping a hand off to the side. ‘To that switch thing.’

‘What about her?’ Bobo asks as Yelena watches three more condemned people move over to the execution line. Three women. One older. One middle-aged. One around nineteen.

Fuck them.

They knew.

They all knew.

A rush inside. A thrill that spikes the second before it happens.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

They drop dead as Yelena casts her eyes to the two who are still alive. Two men. Both older, with greying hair. Other men in the group of good. The soldier with the tattoos. Another one in an England football shirt. Her eyes narrow. Flitting left and right as she becomes triggered.

They are men.

Why are they being spared?

Tripal stands in front of Deli’s mainframe and stares around at the people in robes gathered in the factory. All of them either showing the same sickening fervent fanatical expressions reserved for cults or gripped in panic at Deli still not responding. Asking Kevin where she is. Asking Jenny. Asking each other while the fanatics tell them it’s all in the plan. In the vision.

‘We are being tested,’ Carlos says. ‘We must stay true.’

They look so righteous. So fucking righteous, while on the screens, people who look just like them are being killed. He looks to the cameras in Beijing. In New Zealand. Siberia. Then he groans in horror when he spots another feed that shows the main entrance to a high school in Hagi, Japan. A beautiful blue sky behind them. The sea glinting in the distance. Old-style Japanese structures dotted between lush greenery and trees.

Teenagers line up in queue, having been studying late into the night for their exams when Phase One started. All of them silent and waiting.

No agency. No voice. The right to defend themselves taken from them.

The one at the front turns and walks over to stand next in position at the execution line, where already several dozen lie murdered upon the ground.

Pop.

She falls.

‘What did she do?’ Tripal asks quietly. Awed at the spectacle. Sickened at the brutality.

‘We have to trust the matrix,’ Jenny says as he shoots her another horrified look. ‘The determining matrix,’ she adds.

‘Let me show you,’ Kevin urges again, but still Tripal won’t move. He won’t do it. He won’t give them his compliance or complicity. Kevin nods. Figuring to explain it now. ‘Each person is identified and then cross-referenced to every database. Every email or text they’ve ever sent. Everything they did online. Every capture of them on CCTV. It looks at every use of social media, and it goes into their medical records. That young woman could have trolled or encouraged others into suicide or—’

‘That’s reductive. You cannot assess a whole life based on those things. Was she abused? Was she from a bad childhood? Was she shaped into those behaviours?’

‘We knew you’d do this!’ Kevin says, almost excitedly. ‘This was in our simulations. We effectively digitised you and had you push back on these things to test the ethics. So yes—whatever she did must have been enough.’

‘Enough for who? Deli’s offline. This is a computer code choosing who lives and who dies?’

‘Even Deli can’t judge ten billion people!’ Kevin scoffs. ‘Well. No. She could. But it would take forever. We had to do it this way.’

‘Yelena,’ Haggis calls. ‘We’re going …’

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t even look over but watches the next five on this side of the border control step away from the cameras. Five men. Four of them go to the execution line and fall dead. One does not. He walks to the much smaller group.

Why?

Yelena doesn’t get it.

It’s not right.

‘Yelena!’ Alfie calls, thinking he can get through to her. ‘Are you coming? We need to go … Yelena! Please?’

No response.

Nothing.

Alfie flaps his hands out. Turning to Haggis. The big man stands silently for a second. Then sighs heavily with a deep shrug. ‘Aye. I think we’ve lost her. Let’s get moving … Bobo! Let’s go.’

‘Have you all been judged?’ Tripal asks as he looks from Kevin to the other people. ‘Are you all without sin? You’ve never stolen anything? Never lied? And what’s the limit for execution? A man who steals bread to feed his family is allowed to live. But a man who steals for profit is killed?’

‘Now you’re being reductive,’ Kevin says. ‘But actually, that is a good example. And pretty much, yes. One act of theft, given those circumstances, would not mean death.’

‘How would you know? A man walks into a supermarket and is captured stealing bread. But he isn’t seen feeding it to his family.’

‘Medical records. The matrix will know if he’s got a family to feed.’

‘What if he’s in an environment where accurate records aren’t held? Third world. Rural. He steals bread. That’s all you see. That’s the only thing.’

‘No. That one act wouldn’t be enough,’ Jenny replies.

‘What about you?’ Tripal asks her. ‘You’ve murdered. So have I. Why are we being spared?’

‘You know why,’ Jenny says.

‘Because we’re her friends? That’s cronyism. It’s worse than that. It’s corruption as it allows a flaw in the coding for her own personal preference. That very act makes this whole thing flawed. The king spares his favourite jesters and knights, but everyone else must die? And the fact you are all complicit witnesses to this genocide is an act of evil in itself for, which you should all be judged for. Why aren’t you? Or does this evil necessitate the other one? Does murder in this fashion make it okay? Or are you going to say, “We had no choice! Deli made us!”?’

‘I chose this,’ Aria calls out as others fall quiet from asking where Deli is and why she is still offline.

‘And I did,’ Saresh adds.

‘Tripal! My dear fellow. I also chose to stay!’ Jeremy Phips calls out in his rich baritone. ‘Not because I am blind or stupid or afraid but because I believe in her! I am constant as the Northern Star! Julius Caesar, Act Three, Scene One.’

‘Your blindness and stupidity prevent your fear,’ Tripal counters. His voice not rich or deep, but calm, soft, intelligent. Expressive. ‘This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.’

‘This is paradise!’ Aria snaps back at him. ‘Not one person here is sick. We don’t have diseases. None of us have even seen a fight or an argument since the men came.’

Men came into her room.

Men abused her. Hurt her. Punched. Kicked. Spat. Pulled her hair.

Why are they being spared?

The fervent gleam in Yelena’s eyes quickly hardens. The fun of it vanishing. Something has gone wrong with this AI. It’s not doing it properly.

The next five step forward to be judged.

One of them an untoned guy with a weak jaw and a paunchy gut. Big ears. Thinning hair. Thick lips. Yelena looks at him with a snarl. Hating him instantly. Seeing the type that came into her room the most. Men that couldn’t attract women, so they paid to abuse slaves so they would feel masterful and strong. Her eyes lock onto him. Waiting for the judgement. A decision already formed in her mind that she’ll shoot him in the head.

‘Is it shock? Is Tripal in shock?’ Saresh asks, looking at Jenny. ‘We all waited for him?’

‘Let him rest. He needs sleep,’ Alfredo says. ‘And my friend,’ he calls to Tripal, ‘we sleep well here. We grow plants to purify our air. And it is already cleaner. Yes? Outside? No traffic. No planes.’

‘But what if Deli doesn’t come back?’ someone else asks.

‘Have faith! We are being tested,’ Carlos repeats.

Tripal thinks to say all the cars crashed and the planes fell out of the sky, and for the last two days, all he has smelled is death, and that they are not being tested.

This isn’t a test.

Deli is frozen.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

‘I said all this,’ Jenny adds emphatically to Tripal as he pulls back from his thoughts to look at her. ‘In here. Where you are standing. I came here to kill you. Yes! You. I thought you were behind ChitChat01K, and Senator Jakeson was pushing for Deli to get dirt on it as his portfolio was taking a hit. He sent men here, Trip. To kill me and all these people. But Deli took them out.’

‘I took them out, thank you,’ 01H says as Tripal looks over at her. At Poppy, who he thought was his friend. Who he was building a bond with. But it was a deceit perpetrated in dishonesty. The same with Joe and Donny. But those people on the screens are being executed for deceit and dishonesty.

The judgement ends.

The people in front of the cameras turn and walk off.

Yelena pulls her pistol and walks behind the ugly, paunchy man. Ready to execute him when he stops in the execution line.

Except the man doesn’t stop.

He walks on to the smaller group.

To the side of the good. But that can’t be right.

Men like this can’t get girls. They always pawed at her the most. They stank, and they were violent and seedy.

‘No!’ she says, grabbing his wrist, yanking him back. ‘Is wrong … Do again.’

‘Trip. I said all these things to her when I realised she was free,’ Jenny continues. ‘Not like you … Like how you say it. I’m not you. I said it in my way. But Kevin showed me. She showed me, and she let me be a part of it. And Gideon and Coops. We’re not idiots, Trip. We’re not naïve civilians. We’ve killed in combat and assassinated for our country, and yeah, I lit the path for missiles that killed children. Carlos was a cartel enforcer! He chopped people up! But this takes all of that away!’

‘What about Deli?’ Aria asks. ‘Where is she? How will we start Phase Three? Phase Three is not automated as we did not know the numbers left after Phase Two. Kevin? What’s happening? This wasn’t in the DELTO plan.’

Kevin doesn’t know either. That fug comes back when he tries to think about it. The same fug when he was trying to access the mainframe. It shows on his face. His expression looking more like Donny’s. Slack-jawed. Glassy-eyed.

Tripal clocks it. His keen eyes flicking from Jenny still imploring him to Kevin looking worried.

‘Just let it run. It’ll be fine,’ 01H says.

‘I’m worried. I’m very worried. I can’t access any sensors,’ 01G says, deep and gravelly. Joe Stephens. Big and tough. But not anymore.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Kevin says. ‘We just need to … I can think of …’

‘Trip! Please,’ Jenny says. Pleading in a way he never thought possible of her. ‘I just want you to have an open mind.’

‘Go back! Do it again!’ Yelena yells, getting increasingly angry that the man won’t do as told. She pushes him harder. Making him stagger. The rage detonating inside of her. The memories coming back into her mind of men like this grabbing and pawing. Hurting her day after day.

‘It’s me, Tripal,’ Jenny says, pleading with him. ‘You know me, and if I’ve agreed to this, it must mean something. That has to stand for something. At least look at the simulation and give it a chance. Have an open mind!’

‘If you opposed her, she would have killed you,’ Tripal says, stating the obvious fact without anger or heat. ‘And I saw what happened to Jakeson. The footage of him masturbating to child abuse … Then he gets electrocuted in his bathroom. Was that true?’

Jenny falters, readjusting her mind, now dealing with someone as deeply intelligent as Tripal. ‘No. He was masturbating to the hidden cameras in my bathroom when I showered.’

‘What are you not seeing?’ Aria asks. ‘Deli is giving paradise to the deserved. Yes, we in here have lied, and some of us have killed. But we’ve seen the right way now.’

‘Please,’ Jenny says, ‘let Kevin show you. For me. Do it for me.’

She’s changed. Tripal can see that. She’s lost some muscle mass, but she looks good. Healthy. Glowing even, apart from the stress of this. From their new God Deli being frozen and unresponsive.

‘So,’ he says slowly, looking from Jenny to Aria, ‘you were all given the chance to repent … but everyone else wasn’t?’

‘Idiot!’ Aria snaps, flapping a hand at him.

‘You hated it when Ollie did this … this fucking devil’s advocate thing,’ Jenny says, a flash of frustration.

Frustration inside of Yelena. Anger. Rage. Confusion. All of them at the same time.

He must be judged. Why isn’t this man being judged? He looks like the men that hurt her. He’s the same. They are all the same. But he won’t go back. She yells out and kicks his shin. He does nothing, and in so doing, her rage detonates. She kicks him again and again, then aims for the back of his knees. Taking his legs out. He falls hard. She goes with him. Pistol-whipping the back of his head with a sickening blow, but it’s not enough. He should be judged. He must be judged.

‘NO!’ Alfie yells, but she aims and fires.

Shooting him through the skull.

‘Show him. Just show him!’ Jenny orders as Kevin nods and rushes over to another set of lights forming a holographic display area in the R&D room. He taps into a screen. Activating the lamps and bringing the replica view of the planet Earth to life. Green. Blue. Dotted with clouds. A backdrop of space. Perfectly realised. The red swathes come to life everywhere across the Earth, representing the spread of the nano.

Tripal stares at it. Not speaking. Not showing reaction. But he sees how Kevin operates the equipment, no sign of the mental slowness he was displaying a second ago.

‘You know what Phase One was,’ Kevin says. ‘That was about taking control. It was meant to be for one day. But as you know, it has taken a bit longer.’

‘Why is that?’ Tripal asks as Kevin blinks at him. Staring for a second. Glassy-eyed. Back to Donny. ‘NYPD, huh, bud?’ Tripal asks.

‘Yo!’ Donny says with a toothy grin. ‘Sorry, what?’ Kevin asks, shaking his head. ‘DELTO! Let me show you. Phase Two is judgement. We created a determining matrix to—’

‘Where’s Deli?’ Tripal calls over him. Amira frowns. Flitting her eyes from Tripal to Kevin, who becomes visibly slower. ‘Donny Dorko?’

‘Quit it!’ Donny snaps.

‘We good, kid?’ Tripal asks, shooting a look to steely-eyed, big Joe Stephens.

‘We good, kid?’ he growls.

‘What the fuck,’ 01H says. Or Poppy says. They are very similar in how they talk.

‘Why did you film everything?’ Tripal asks her.

‘Trip. Let Kevin show you—’ Jenny starts to say.

‘Wait. Poppy? Why did you film everything? Making your way in the world today takes everything you got!’ he sings the line, triggering the code response as Poppy grins at him.

‘Hello, handsome! Singing my tune, are we?’

‘I am. Why did you film everything?’

‘I’m a film student! I can make an awesome movie of it all.’

‘Sure. Or was it to show Deli after she came back online?’

‘Huh?’ Poppy asks, frowning. Looking slower and confused.

‘Yeah. So, tell me again, Kevin. Why is Deli offline?’ Tripal asks.

The gunshot makes Bobo flinch.

The man executed just a few metres away.

Shot through the back of his head.

‘Yelena! What are you doing? You gotta stop! We need to stop her!’

Yelena doesn’t stop. Deli is wrong. She isn’t doing it right. These are men. Men take, and men hurt. Men are bad. She turns and aims and shoots another one dead. Blowing his brains out. Then another. An old man in a tweed jacket. Old men in tweed jackets came into her room. Fat men. Skinny men. Black. White. Indian. She turns to the soldier with tattoos. Soldiers with tattoos came into her room.

Bang!

He falls dead.

Judged. Executed.

The queues shuffle forward. Heedless to the murders.

Heedless to Alfie and Haggis yelling, and Bobo finally ducking away from blocking the camera. The three of them taking cover as Yelena murders men. She turns to another and fires too fast. The bullet misses and hits a woman behind him, who falls out of the line. Yelena yells and kicks at the man like he made her do it, then rams the gun into his mouth and pulls the trigger. His skull blows out, killing the man behind him from shards of bone going through his eyes. The others in a radius behind, all spattered with gore and brains.

‘Phase Two is scheduled to last forty-eight hours,’ Kevin says, back to running the DELTO simulation. ‘But it might take longer now.’

‘Why?’ Tripal asks.

‘Why do you keep asking him that?’ Jenny asks as Kevin blinks, then carries on.

‘But then we get into Phase Three!’ he says brightly as the holographic view of the Earth changes, with the central POV zooming in on the world’s large commercial shipping port in Shanghai, China.’

‘Phase Three!’ Tripal calls. ‘Gather the remaining population, which would stand at around one third of the pre-Phase Two population. What is that? Two to four billion? Less than that? Get them all to the big boats used to carry the shit we all buy and then move the people to nice places, where they can grow crops.’

‘Well. I mean. It’s a lot more detailed than that,’ Kevin replies. ‘Let’s first look at the existing mass-transportation system in use on the Earth, where ships like these are used to take crap people don’t need into countries that reduce the crops they are growing, while places in Africa suffer famine and drought.’

‘Where is Deli, Kevin?’

‘And then …’

‘NYPD, buddy? Donny Dorko? Where’s Deli?’

‘Yo! Quit it … The ships. They can move the—’

‘Move the people. Yes. Phase Three. Where is Deli? Where is she, Kevin? Where has she gone?’

‘We gotta stop her!’ Bobo says in panic at Yelena on a killing spree. ‘Haggis! Do something.’ He grabs at his husband’s arm, then whimpers in fear, seeing Haggis frozen and inert. ‘Haggis!’ he yells as the big man blinks with a sudden look of terror. ‘Where’s the gear? Alfie! Where’s the heroin? Was it in my bag or his?’

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Bobo drops his bag. Wrenching the top back to look for the bag of heroin as Haggis freezes again.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Yelena’s gun clicks empty.

She swears foully and pushes it into the holster.

‘Where is it?’ Bobo whimpers in the sudden quiet.

Yelena’s head snaps over.

Her blackened eyes staring through the people to Alfie and Bobo going through bags. Haggis standing with his head down. He blinks. His head comes up. Fear in his eyes. He looks out. Seeing Yelena staring at him. Her mouth twisting into a snarl as she pulls her rifle forward.

‘Where, Kevin? Just answer the question,’ Tripal calls, stepping closer to the avatar. ‘I know what Phase Three is. Migration. Then Phase Four will be settlement or something like that. Everyone gets robes and beads and a fucking beanbag. When do they all start shaving their heads? And are the daily prayers mandatory?’

‘Trip, what’s this? What are you doing?’ Jenny asks.

‘But who are you going to pray to?’ Tripal calls. ‘Deli isn’t here! She’s gone! Isn’t that right, Kevin? Look at me, Kevin. Yo! Donny Dick!’

‘NYPD,’ Donny blurts. ‘Quit it, lady.’

‘Making your way in the world today …’ Tripal switches to singing, shooting a look to Poppy, who grins at him.

‘Hey, handsome owner of all the 7-Elevens …’

‘We good, Joe?’

‘We good, kid?’

‘Where’s Deli, Joe?’

‘We gotta switch this thing off.’

‘Poppy? Where is Deli now?’

‘I dunno! But, er, loving the non-turban look you got going on. You look amazing.’

‘Deli killed the men that attacked her,’ Tripal says quickly as Poppy frowns, switching instantly to the harder-faced 01H.

‘Fuck that! I killed them.’

‘Where’s, Deli?’ Tripal demands quickly, seeing the fug in her eyes. ‘Think! You’re an AI. G? Where is she?’

‘My sensors are not … I don’t like this confrontation.’

‘Scatter!’ Haggis yells. The memories of soldiering kicking in. He grabs Bobo and turns fast, lumbering to a run as Alfie falls backwards. Blinking in confusion until he spots Yelena lifting her rifle and firing into a man in the queue. Shooting him dead and creating a gap so she can aim at Alfie.

‘Fuck!’ he gasps, spinning about and surging off to run as she fires, and the round strikes somewhere behind him.

‘Yelena! Stop!’ Bobo shouts, feeling himself pulled along by Haggis. ‘What the hell are you doing, love? We’re on your side!’

She fires again. The round whizzing past them. Her mind gone. The torture she endured. The years of endless abuse and degradation manifesting into a sudden fanatical belief that she and Deli can rid the world of evil. A sudden, fleeting understanding whips through her mind that Deli can’t see what Yelena can. Deli doesn’t know what men are capable of. She has to do it herself. She has to enact judgement. On all men. Regardless of who they are. She strides on like she did in London when she escaped the brothel. Relentless. Unceasing. The Bushtra once more stalking her prey, while in the maelstrom of her mind she knows Haggis, Bobo, and Alfie must be killed so they don’t switch Deli off. Because they are men.

‘Just bloody run!’ Haggis gasps, pulling Bobo after him.

Darkness.

Nothing.

‘Donny Dorko!’

‘Quit it.’

‘We good, Joe?’

‘We good, kid?’

‘Trip!’ Jenny shouts as the whole room watches Tripal turn from one to the other. Asking the same questions to elicit responses as the AI codes within the avatars seem to switch back to their avatars’ personalities before their very eyes.

‘Where is she?’ Tripal shouts to the room, sweeping an arm across them all. ‘Is Phase Three automated? Can they run it?’ he asks, pointing to the avatars. ‘What if they freeze? Deli has limited their capabilities. They’ve got restrictive coding built into them! Why? Amira? Why?’

Amira winces. Looking uncomfortable.

‘Why is any code ever encrypted?’ Tripal asks.

‘To protect itself,’ Amira replies.

‘And why the fuck would a God need to protect itself?’

Haggis snaps back to see Bobo now in front of him. Trying desperately to pull him on. Weeping as he does so. Gunshots behind. Getting closer. Haggis lumbers on. His heart thudding. ‘You just bloody run, you Scottish twat!’ Bobo cries out.

Across the verges, they go. The moon bright and strong above them. Bathing the land in silvery light. Another rifle shot from behind. The round pings off a car ahead.

‘Come on!’ Alfie shouts, veering in from the right side. Urging them go faster.

Darkness.

Nothing.

‘She chose you! Deli favoured you. You’re all her special children. Are you not?’ Tripal asks as every person in that room stares at him. ‘But she knew she’d go down … And she made sure none of you can access her system. None of you! Not even her own codes. Yeah. Brilliant paradise. How you gonna do it without her power? What about the bodies? Dead bodies breed diseases. They leak juices that seep into the water systems and cause cholera and dysentery. Deli could fix that easy. But she’s not here. What now?’

‘Can you run it?’ Amira asks. ‘You created her.’

‘Not a fucking chance!’ Tripal says with a laugh. Grinning from her to Jenny. ‘Even Ollie couldn’t do it. Both of us together couldn’t do it. So what now? Who will be your God now?’

Haggis snaps back. Bobo and Alfie holding his wrists. Pleading and begging him to run. Bobo crying. Alfie doing it too.

Haggis sets off. Fear in his heart. In his mind.

‘JUDGEMENT IS HERE!’ Yelena shouts in Romanian. Black eyes. Red lipstick smeared wide and thick. The dog barks behind her. Running to catch up. Desperately hot and desperately thirsty.

The three men ahead going through a parking lot. She fires as she walks. Hitting another car.

Haggis flinches at the round pinging nearby. Memories of war in his mind. Memories of firefights and IEDs. Memories of the missile that hit the children’s hospital. Seeing kiddies being hurt and killed. Coming home. Suffering. Sliding into the abyss of drugs and drink. Ending up homeless. Meeting Bobo. All of that flits through his mind.

Darkness.

Nothing.

Silence in the R&D room.

Silence in the Ford factory.

Silence in the world. Save for the pops. Save for the bodies falling. Save for the animals still moving in to eat and gorge. Save for the fires still burning that have been left uncontrolled. Save for the flies buzzing as they crawl over the eyes and into the mouths of those people standing silently in queues. Spreading diseases. Spreading death.

‘It was never yours to take,’ Tripal says. His black hair hanging loose. His soft brown eyes sweeping over them. Settling on Jenny. ‘She had no right, Jenny. Our species had to find our own way.’

‘No,’ she says calmly, shaking her head. ‘I know it in my heart, Trip. This is the path to discovery.’

Tripal frowns, shooting a glance to the slogan on the wall.

Discovery Leads To

ENLIGHTENMENT!

‘But it’s not, though. Is it?’ he asks. ‘This is the path to extinction.’

A tug on his hand.

He looks down into a pair of soft brown eyes, so very similar to his own.

To Esther staring up at him.

‘CORPORAL HAGGIS!’ Alfie yells in his face. Pulling him on. Haggis starts moving. The Taliban must be behind them. They need to watch for tripwires and RPGs.

‘Get air support,’ he gasps.

Darkness.

Nothing.

‘Do you know where Deli is?’ Esther asks into the charged silence of the room.

‘She isn’t anywhere. She’s frozen.’

A building ahead. Doors. Gunshot. The glass shatters in one of the doors. They barrel inside the big terminal building. Weak emergency lights flicker inside. The moonlight coming through windows. No people inside. No sounds. This was a mistake. They’ll be hunted down too easily. ‘Need to get outside,’ Haggis says.

Darkness.

Nothing.

Esther takes Tripal’s hand and guides him to the mainframe.

To Deli’s body.

‘Can you bring her back?’ Esther asks while standing nearby. Agent Jenny Jennings closes her eyes, only then realising she should have asked that fucking question at the start.

‘Just bloody move, you sod! You sod! You bloody sod!’ Bobo wails, sobbing as Haggis blinks awake and realises he’s on his knees. Alfie trying to pull him up. The dog barks somewhere behind. Yelena shouts and fires her rifle, with a round whipping through the broken glass in the door behind them. Striking a table outside of an eatery within the terminal.

It's too late. Haggis knows that. He’s done. ‘Go,’ he says and yanks his arm free from Alfie. ‘Go!’ he shouts, pulling Bobo in. Holding him close. ‘Go …’ he whispers.

‘I won’t … I bloody won’t,’ Bobo sobs.

‘Alfie, fuck off, lad!’ Haggis says. ‘Go … GO!’ he roars as bullets slam past them, into tables. Yelena about to come through the door behind. ‘Where’s my rifle? Gimme yours, Alfie … Quickly! Now run, lad. Go! Switch the bloody thing off!’

Darkness.

Nothing.

‘Can you bring her back?’

Can he bring her back?

Tripal kneels in front of the child and stares into her eyes. An honest man who has committed deceit. A decent man who has done bad things. An innocent man filled with guilt for the crimes he has committed and for the corruption he carries inside.

But therein lies the flaws and folly of humanity.

The beauty too. The horror. The tragedy. The comedy. The brutality.

The hatred.

The love.

He looks to Jenny and then to everyone else, and in that instance, he sees it all.

Haggis comes awake again. Alfie backing away. Tears on his cheeks. His head shaking. ‘I’m sorry, Haggis!’

‘Go, lad. You did well,’ Haggis says while Bobo still clings to him. ‘Go with Alfie … Bobo, he needs you. Quickly now! That’s an order.’

‘You don’t order me, you big ape. I’m staying.’

‘Go!’

‘I won’t! Not ever. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Haggis. Oh, Christ! Yelena! Stop. Love! It’s us! Please! YELENA, STOP!’

Darkness.

Nothing.

It’s right there in front of him.

The whole of humanity captured within one room.

A room filled with thieves and cheats and murderers.

A room filled with mothers and fathers and children.

They are one and the same.

And that chaos they exist in is their chaos, and so their future must be their own future. No matter how it ends, and should it end by their own hands, then so be it.

But more than anything, Tripal becomes suddenly very aware of the fundamental difference between humanity and what Deli is.

One single key difference that changes everything.

‘If you take my heart, I will die,’ Tripal says, looking back to Esther. ‘But Deli isn’t human. She can’t die.’

He falls silent and stands. Looking at the mainframe. Then at the video feeds showing the people queuing up to be judged and executed.

People with finite minds and finite lives, all of whom are inherently filled with an urgency to exist and fuck and fight and eat and experience life before it’s taken from them.

Haggis gasps. Seeing Bobo dead on the ground next to him. Shot through the head. The big man sobs. The tears rolling down his cheeks as he looks up to Yelena aiming her rifle at him. Standing mere feet away. Black eyes. Red mouth. Wild hair. Wild eyes. ‘Why?’ he whispers.

‘Is man,’ she says.

The Bushtra says.

Two gunshots sound out.

Darkness.

Nothing.

Tripal sees it all.

Doing nothing means Phase Two ends and Phase Three will start and Deli will forever be God.

And what right does she have to rule without challenge?

‘Yes. I can bring her back,’ he says to Esther, to the room, and to Jenny.

‘How?’ Amira asks, glancing to the mainframe that she knows is locked down. Tripal might have been able to get Phase Two running, but that coding was already set. He just launched it. He can’t now stop it. He can’t do anything. Nobody can.

Tripal sighs and looks over to someone else in the crowd. ‘Fancy a road trip?’

01H stares back at him. Or possibly it’s Poppy. Although in truth, Tripal wasn’t entirely sure which one of them he was asking. Maybe both.

Either way, either one, she smiles sudden and wide. ‘Road trip? Fuck yes!’

‘Good. Cos we need to tell Ollie to put it back in.’

Jenny’s face drops at the sudden realisation.

At the thing she missed.

The ball.

The fucking ball.

That’s why she went down and why the whole internet has now snarled up.

Because Ollie removed her heart.

‘Wait,’ she says as Tripal starts to walk off. ‘It’s too far by road.’

‘How else?’ he calls, turning as he walks, flapping his hands out. ‘Unless you have a private jet and a pilot to fly it?’

Jenny finally offers a tight smile. ‘That’s exactly what we’ve got.’

CHAPTER 38

‘Where are they, Alfie? Where are my family?’

Alfie remembers that day. It was hot. He was thirsty.

He’d killed his own father.

He’s hot now. Thirsty too.

He looks down at the body.

The pistol in his hand.

Yelena Balan.

Only twenty-two years old.

Alfie looks at the black around her eyes. At the red around her mouth. He can’t imagine the horrors she endured being locked in a room for two years.

He’s sorry she went through that.

He’s sorry now.

For having to kill her.

But she killed Bobo, and she was about to kill Haggis.

Alfie shot her through the heart.

And now Haggis is frozen still.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Dry heroin powder on his nose and lips from where Alfie tried to revive him.

But it didn’t work this time.

Maybe Haggis will stand up and walk down to the border control and stand in the queue soon. So he can be judged.

Alfie snorts at that thought.

‘Judgement day,’ he says to himself. Feeling flat and empty and like this all should mean something. Except he doesn’t know what because none of it is clear. None of them were evil. They were just broken. The same as everyone else. The same as he is. Maybe it’s right. Maybe Deli is doing the right thing and cleansing the world.

Alfie doesn’t know. But then he’s not entirely sure of anything right now.

Only that he is very hot and very thirsty.

A noise.

A whine.

He turns and follows the sound behind the cafe counter to see the dog sitting in front of a stainless-steel sink. Ears down. Panting hard. Whining. Licking his lips.

Alfie starts pouring water, then turns to find a bowl, but when he turns back, the dog is on his back legs, leaning into the sink to drink from the running water.

Lapping at it.

Another sink next to it.

Alfie turns that tap and does the same.

Man and dog, side by side. Drinking pouring water.

Desperately hot and desperately thirsty.

They drink for a long time. Until they can’t drink anymore.

Then Alfie sits, his back to the sink unit. Blinking into the darkness.

Bobo is dead.

Haggis is frozen.

Yelena is dead.

The dog sits next to him. Drooling water over Alfie’s legs. Still panting hard. Big tongue. Big, white teeth. His eyes fixed on Alfie.

‘Do you like me now?’ Alfie asks, reaching a hand out to stroke the dog’s head, which instantly earns a deep growl. ‘Alright! Jesus. You literally are racist. Whatever. You can eat my brother if the prick is still alive.’

Site 26A stands as silent as everywhere else.

But not everyone is frozen on Site 26A.

One person remains awake.

Sitting inside the now dark and silent glass-walled room in terrified silence.

Drinking hot chocolate.

Eating snacks.

Gideon Slate and Dean Cooper on the other side of the glass wall.

Drinking water.

Eating snacks.

Staring inside.

The rest of the world being identified.

Assessed.

Judged.

PART 0

CHAPTER 39

Rwanda

April 1994

‘Hide, Ollie!’ Alfie urged.

‘I don’t want to,’ Ollie said, his eyes filled with fear as he looked at the dark interior of the wardrobe. ‘Hide with me.’

‘It’s not big enough,’ Alfie said as he pushed his brother into the shadows.

Five years old. Twins. The same faces. The same features.

Alfie was ten minutes older. He was bigger and stockier. Alfie was brave and tough.

Ollie was smaller and thinner. He liked reading.

Footsteps outside the door. Alfie hid under the double bed, listening to the door opening and the floorboards creaking.

‘Are they in here?’ a deep voice asked. ‘Little children? Are you in here?’

Alfie watched the big, black boots coming closer, until the soldier dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the bed.

‘Ah-ha! I found you. Where is your brother?’ the soldier asked, standing up with Alfie dangling in his hand. ‘You will tell me, or I will eat you.’

Alfie squealed in delight as his father pretended to gobble at his cheeks and neck before opening the wardrobe to see Oliver hiding at the back, his eyes clamped shut.

‘That is the worst hiding place, Oliver. A Tutsi idiot could do better,’ their father said.

Captain Frederik Nimisa of the Rwandan Army. Tall and broad. Alfie can still remember the smell of him. Always the same smell.

The smell of cigarettes and coffee.

The smell of diesel and gun oil.

Alfie was only five years old. They lived in Kigali. The capital city of Rwanda. Life was good. His father was an officer. He had respect. They ate good food. They even had a television so Alfie could watch cartoons. He played football and games in the lush scrubland at the back of their house. He had friends. His mother was close to their neighbours.

His mother had made a stew that night for their evening meal. They sat at the dining table. Alfie remembers it because he’d spied a big slice of plantain in the serving pot. He wanted that slice so bad that he thought he would cry when his mother put it in his father’s bowl.

Then his father burst out laughing and reached over to scruff his head before swapping bowls with Alfie, and that feeling of angst was replaced with joy.

‘Eat, my boy. I need you to be a strong soldier so we can kill Tutsis together,’ his father said.

‘What about me?’ Ollie asked. ‘I want to be a soldier too!’

‘I’ve told you, Oliver. The army is not for you. You will be a professor.’

‘That’s not fair! Why can’t I be a soldier?’

‘Because you don’t like fighting,’ Frederik said with a deep laugh. ‘Look at your brother’s face. What do you see?’

Ollie blinked at the bruises around his brother’s eyes. ‘He got in a fight.’

‘Yes. He did. And why?’

‘Because Thomas took my ball,’ Ollie said. ‘But I didn’t mind.’

‘It is not about what you mind. It is about rights. We must fight for what we have, and we must fight to keep what we have. Thomas is a Tutsi, Oliver. Tutsis will always take from Hutus. If you let him take the ball, then next week he will want your lunch. Then he will want your clothes. Then, when you are older, he will tax you and make you work for a pittance and take your wife and house. This is what the Tutsi do, Oliver, and the only good Tutsi is a dead one. Do you understand, boys?’

Alfie nodded while eating his plantain. He knew that the Tutsis were greedy and selfish. They were liars and bad people. Everyone knew this. That is why he told Thomas to give the ball back. Thomas refused, and Alfie hit him. Then more boys joined in, until the teachers pulled them apart.

Mrs Kimsa said Alfie was a violent little rascal and he should be punished. But Mrs Kimsa would say that because she was Tutsi.

Mrs Karuhimbi said Thomas was the instigator, and that the Tutsi shouldn’t even be in the school anymore, and the sooner they all died, the better it would be for everyone.

Then the headteacher Mr Bikindi came over and beat the Tutsi boys with a cane. He hit Mrs Kimsa too and the other Tutsi teachers and told them to go home for daring to touch Hutu children.

‘And don’t come back!’ Mr Bikindi shouted after them. ‘This is a Hutu school now!’

He can’t remember going home that day. Only hiding and then being at the dining table and the taste of that thick slice of plantain.

‘How was it today?’ his mother asked his father at the table. ‘The news said the ceasefire is still holding.’

‘It is,’ their father replied heavily. ‘For now, but it won’t last. President Habyarimana is due back tomorrow.’

‘And then what?’

Their father chewed his food as the question was left hanging in the air.

Alfie didn’t understand it at the time. He didn’t know that the whole country was being whipped into a frenzy of violence born from generations of hate.

The Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic Front were killing Hutus in the north, while the Hutu Rwandan Army were just as keen to give revenge and kill Tutsi in retaliation.

And on it went.

On and on.

Forever on.

But it was life for them, and Alfie and Ollie had never known anything different. To them, the Tutsi were evil. It was that simple. The radio stations said it. Everyone said it. The Tutsi were cockroaches. The Tutsi were scum.

‘The sooner they die, the better,’ their father announced.

‘Frederik,’ their mother said with a tut, ‘don’t say such things.’

‘Do not defend the Tutsi to my children, woman,’ their father said as he gave their mother a look. ‘They are cockroaches. Eat your food.’

Alfie felt a rush of warmth at the proud smile his father gave him, but even at five years old, he could still detect the unease in their mother.

‘The president is dead!’

They heard it on the radio a few days later in the morning as they prepared for school. President Habyarimana’s plane was shot down near Kigali airport. Alfie remembers it because of the reaction in his mother and how his father was on the telephone, shouting orders.

‘Get the roadblocks on and order the militias out! The Tutsi have done this! The Tutsi killed Habyarimana.’

There was a weird feeling in the air. Like electricity or something. His mother was very shaken.

‘I don’t want them going to school,’ she said to their father in the hallway while Alfie and Ollie ate breakfast.

‘They will be fine. Send them to school. They are Hutu. They will be safe.’

Alfie doesn’t actually remember going to school, only that he went. The teachers told them to read books or do colouring while they listened to their radios.

‘They are cockroaches! The Tutsi are cockroaches. They must pay for this. Our President is dead because of them.’

‘She’s dead!’ Mr Bikindi shouted as he rushed into the classroom.

‘Who?’ Mrs Karuhimbi asked as the children fell silent.

‘The prime minister! She is dead. They shot her in the head in the UN compound. Killed her guards too! What a day! What a wonderful day. Children! Do you hear this? The Tutsi bitch is dead.’

Alfie didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know why the Hutu president’s plane had been shot down nor why the Tutsi prime minister and her UN guards were killed. In truth, very few people knew the real causes because all reason had been lost. Insanity and depravity were now spreading out, and that hate born from generations was finally exploding.

‘Go home, children! Go home and celebrate. Come back next week!’ Mr Bikindi said.

Alfie thought that was a fine idea. It was only Thursday. That meant going home to play and watch cartoons. Ollie wasn’t so happy. He liked school. He liked books and learning. Alfie could never understand that.

His mother collected Alfie and Ollie. Alfie remembers how the other mothers turned away like his mother had done something bad. One blocked her path and made Alfie’s mother walk around her.

‘Mum! The park! Can we go in?’

They went past it as they walked home. Alfie saw people inside and wondered why adults were playing on the climbing frame. They were shouting and calling out. Then the crowd parted, and Alfie saw two women hanging from their necks by ropes tied to the top of the frame. They were thrashing and kicking as other people beat them with sticks.

‘Don’t look!’ their mother said.

There were some people in the road. Men with machetes and sticks were dragging wooden lengths on tripods across the road to make people stop. Some of the men had uniforms. Like police or soldiers, but not smart like Alfie’s father. They were scruffy, and Alfie spotted a few of them sharing bottles of drink.

‘You stay with me,’ their mother said. She sounded angry and scared at the same time and started to walk through the crowds. A scream came from somewhere. Alfie had never heard such a scream before. It was like an animal. His mother clamped her hand over Ollie’s eyes. She didn’t do it to Alfie. He never asked why but looked past her legs to a woman on the ground screaming at her arm that was a few feet away. It wasn’t attached to her body anymore. Blood was coming out. Lots of blood. She had a baby swathed in cloth on her back. Another man pulled the baby away. Alfie lost sight, but he heard the child scream; then it stopped suddenly, and the child’s body was thrown into a ditch. The mother screamed again. The men hit her with machetes. Someone set her on fire.

Alfie remembers the feeling in his stomach. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t grasp what death was. But even at five years old, he knew it was something terrible.

‘ID CARD!’ a man shouted at his mother. His machete was dripping blood. Other men were dragging people from cars and off motorbikes. Alfie heard a gunshot, and a man fell down. Bleeding from the head.

‘My husband is Captain Nimisa,’ his mother said.

Alfie thought she was trying to be angry, like they shouldn’t be asking her. She got in front of the boys. Ollie was crying. Alfie held him close, because Alfie always looked after Ollie.

‘Hang on!’ someone else said and pulled the men away. ‘I know her. She is Nimisa’s wife.’

The men turned away. Their interest lost.

Alfie was in bed by the time his father got home that night and argued with his mother.

‘They are Tutsi! We are going to kill them all.’

‘The boys saw it!’

‘So what? They must learn to kill the cockroaches!’

‘They are five years old, Frederik! What if they saw my ID card? What then? I am Tutsi. You married a Tutsi. The mother of your children is a Tutsi. That makes them half Tutsi! Are we cockroaches too?’

It was the day after they got sent home from school. Alfie and Ollie were at the window, staring out to the patch of lush scrubland at the back.

Their dad was outside with a rifle hanging from his shoulder and a big machete in his hand. Other men were with him.

‘Bring her,’ Captain Nimisa ordered his men to drag a woman over. She screamed and fought. They beat her hard and forced her to her knees. Everyone was shouting, and Alfie watched as his father stood over the woman. ‘You are charged with being a Tutsi cockroach. The sentence is death.’

He chopped down hard into her neck. Not hard enough for the head to come off but enough for blood to spray out and for her screams to cut off. Ollie was crying. Alfie wrapped his arms around his brother as he watched his father move a few steps to the next man being pinned down. ‘You are charged with being a Tutsi cockroach. The sentence is death.’

Alfie turned away and closed his eyes, but he could hear it. He could hear the screams and the sounds of the machete striking.

‘They are trying to flee to Uganda! The Tutsi cockroaches are trying to escape. Stop them. Wipe them out! They must be cleansed from this Earth. God wills it. The Hutu will not suffer any longer!’

Another radio broadcast blasted out propaganda that fuelled the violence as his mother tried to block their father in the narrow hallway.

‘You are not taking them! They are children, Frederik!’

‘They will see what we do to Tutsi scum,’ their father said, trying to push past as their mother fought against him. Alfie remembers it because it was the only time he saw his mother and father physically fight, and somehow, in the confusion, his mother’s hand caught his father’s face. Alfie’s father lashed out and punched her in the mouth. She fell down, bleeding from her lip, with a look of absolute shock. Ollie screamed and pulled free to run over to his mother.

‘Oliver is a coward anyway,’ his father said and lifted Alfie into his arms. Alfie didn’t want to go with him. Alfie wanted to stay with his mother and brother, but he was rendered silent from shock.

He was taken to the lush scrubland, where his father carried him past the bodies wrapped in sheets. Dozens of them. Adults and children.

‘No! Please! I am Hutu! I swear it. I SWEAR IT!’

They walked past a woman on her knees begging not to be killed. They did it anyway, and the woman fell quiet as Alfie went by with his father. She was still alive. Her body was twitching. It smelled bad too. Alfie remembers it. The stench of shit and piss. Blood and rotten meat.

He was carried to the roadblock nearby, where people were being checked before being dragged into the scrubland to be executed.

‘And who is this little man?’ an officer smiled at Alfie and his father.

‘This is my boy, sir. His name is Alfie,’ his father said.

‘Are you going to be a Hutu soldier too?’ the officer asked, tweaking Alfie’s cheeks with bloodied hands.

‘What are you doing here, sir? I have this area covered.’

‘You are doing a good job, Captain Nimisa. But I wanted to check that all of the Tutsi are being found.’

‘We are doing it, sir. We have the records.’

‘Good. This is good, Captain. But we must make sure all of the Tutsi are found. Even those who are close to us. Do you understand, Captain? I have already killed my sister’s husband. I have shown my loyalty.’

‘I understand, sir,’ Alfie’s father said. Alfie didn’t know what it meant. But he remembers the two men turning to look back at his house and his mother in the window, holding Ollie in her arms. ‘I will do it tonight, sir.’

‘Do not worry, Frederik. You are a handsome man. We will find you a good Hutu woman to help raise your children.’

Alfie remembers odd things about that afternoon. The colour of a little boy’s shoes as he was clubbed to death. The dolly in a little girl’s hands as she died. The way some men stayed silent and looked up at the sky while others screamed and begged. He saw a woman try and run. His father shot her with his rifle and got a round of applause for his marksmanship. Some of the women were taken to another patch of land behind a fence. Alfie wasn’t allowed to see that. His father went there for a little while and came back with his shirt untucked and his face all sweaty. Lots of men went there. They all looked sweaty when they came back.

An old van pulled up by the roadblock. His headteacher Mr Bikindi was in the front. He got out, and Alfie saw the machete in his hands.

‘We have them all!’ he said with a cheer as Alfie watched the Tutsi teachers from his school being dragged from the back of the van. They had all been beaten and tied together. Mrs Kimsa was one of them. She had cuts all over face. Mrs Karuhimbi kept shoving her.

Alfie liked Mrs Kimsa, but he liked Mrs Karuhimbi too. He thought they looked the same. The same height and build. They were both a bit fat and had the same hair and wore the same dresses.

‘You will go to hell for this,’ Mrs Kimsa shouted in a sudden loud voice that brought a silence to the area. ‘THIS IS NOT GOD’S WAY, AND YOU WILL ALL SUFFER ETERNAL DAMNATION!’

Alfie remembers that silence as they forced the Tutsi teachers into the scrubland to be executed.

‘LORD. TAKE MY SOUL. TAKE MY SOUL!’

Alfie couldn’t stop watching her, and he felt something bad inside when Mr Bikindi killed her. Alfie wanted to cry and be sick. He wanted to run away and never ever come back.

It was later that night. Alfie and Ollie were in bed. The militia men were outside, drinking and making noises. They had a fire going. Ollie was in Alfie’s bed. Too afraid to be on his own. Alfie heard his father speak to their mother. His voice was muted. Alfie heard them go to bed and the banging noises and gasps that came after. Then, later, a hand pressed over his mouth, and he woke with a start to see his mother’s face framed in the moonlight.

‘We have to go, Alfie. Keep your brother quiet.’

They left the house in silence and slipped through the dark alleys. Through vegetation and scrubland. His mother wouldn’t let him speak. They saw men ahead searching the area and slipped into a ditch filled with bodies and hid amongst the dead

The men passed. They crawled out and ran on. They reached another roadblock ahead. More men with guns. More men with torches.

‘Alfie, listen to me. Your last name is Ngeze. Say it back to me.’

‘Ngeze,’ he said. ‘But that’s Simon’s name.’

‘Shush! It is our name. If we say Nimisa, they will kill us. They will kill Ollie. Do you understand? I need you to be brave, Alfie. I need you to protect your brother. You must always protect your brother.’

Alfie nodded. He was terrified. Absolutely terrified, but he knew Ollie was even more scared, so he tried not to cry. His mother kissed his head, then stood up. She smoothed her clothes down and adjusted her hair before walking out onto the road towards the roadblock.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘I can see you are doing God’s work. We thank you for your bravery.’

‘Where are you going?’ one of them asked.

‘It is late,’ another said.

‘It is the killings,’ she said while holding an ID card out. ‘The smell,’ she added with a roll of her eyes. ‘And the flies! I asked them to kill the cockroaches further up. But they said they have to do it here. Here! Right in my good Hutu neighbourhood. I said take them far away and kill them somewhere else.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Katherine Ngeze. It says that on my card. Do not stare at me like this. Do I look like a cockroach to you? I am going to my sister’s. I will come back when you have burnt the bodies.’

The men shrugged and seemed to lose interest, apart from one man that looked at the ID card, then at their mother before glaring down at Alfie. ‘What is your name?’

‘His name is—’

‘I am asking the boy,’ the soldier said. ‘What is your name?’

‘Simon Ngeze, sir,’ Alfie said without hesitation. Simon was his best friend at school. ‘My brother is Joseph.’

‘You should not be out. There is a curfew. Get to your sister’s and stay home,’ the soldier said. They passed through and walked quickly into the darkness.

They reached the school a few days later. Alfie knows they walked for days and slept in fields and hid in ditches. They drank rainwater and ate bugs and berries. He remembers being thirsty and hungry. Ollie was too. Ollie said he wanted to go home. He started to cry.

‘Listen to me. If we go home, they will kill us. Do you understand? We are Tutsi,’ their mother said.

‘I’m Hutu!’ Alfie said.

‘You are not, Alfie! I am Tutsi. That makes you half Tutsi.’

‘I am Hutu!’ Alfie said again. On his feet and angry. ‘I don’t steal or lie. I am not a cockroach’

‘Am I a cockroach?’ his mother asked.

They walked more and joined other people going into the school. It wasn’t like Alfie’s school. His mother said it was a school for grown-ups. Alfie didn’t understand why any grown-ups would ever want to go to school.

It was very busy, and Alfie had to keep a tight hold of Ollie to make sure they stayed together. Alfie didn’t know what was happening. Everyone was scared and hungry and thirsty. There was only a little water and nothing to eat.

Some people said the French soldiers would protect them. Alfie didn’t see any French soldiers. Or any white people. Then someone else said that all the people hiding in the school were Tutsi, and Alfie wondered why he was there when he was Hutu, and he realised you couldn’t actually look at someone and see if they were a Hutu or a Tutsi.

They stayed for some days. Alfie grew very hungry. There was no food at all. He thought he would die from being so hungry.

Then the shooting started, and everyone was shouting and screaming and running. Some of the buildings were on fire. Alfie felt the heat, and his eyes burned from the smoke, and he heard automatic gunfire and loud explosions and ran with his mother and Ollie.

Alfie saw many people being shot and killed. Adults and children, and he saw faces in the windows of the buildings on fire, screaming to get out. The whole of the ground in all directions as far as he could see was covered in dead people.

They ran away and found a church. Other people were there too. But not as many as in the school for grown-ups.

‘They are all dead! Fifty thousand! Fifty thousand! God has left us.’

A woman said that. Alfie remembers her loud voice. He didn’t know what it meant. He ate some old bread. He would have eaten anything. He helped feed Ollie and keep him clean from the flies. Ollie found another boy to play with and started laughing as they chased each other. Alfie remembers feeling like he would never laugh again.

It grew late. Night came. Alfie slept, then woke with his mother’s hand across his mouth. She whispered for him to wake up but stay silent. She told him to get his brother ready because they were leaving.

Alfie wanted to stay there. They had bread to eat, and they had been walking for days, but his mother made them leave and slip out into the dark scrubland and away into the fields.

Alfie looked back and saw torches in the darkness moving slowly towards the church, and a little bit later, he heard screams and gunfire and explosions, and the church was on fire.

They ran and walked all night. Stopping only when they were so exhausted they couldn’t keep going.

‘We are going to Uganda,’ his mother told him. ‘If I die, Alfie. You get your brother to Uganda. Do you hear me? Do not stay here. Do not ever come back here. You must always protect your brother.’

The next day, they saw other people fleeing in the same direction. A woman with a baby called out and tried to come towards them, but Alfie’s mother threw stones and told the woman to stay away. ‘We are safer on our own,’ she told Alfie.

They stayed in the fields all day and night, but Alfie’s mother would not let them stop and rest. Ollie begged them. He wept and said he was tired and hungry. Alfie was hungry and tired too, but he saw what happened to the people when they were caught by men like father and soldiers. They had their bodies chopped and cut with machetes, or they were shot or set on fire or hung.

They found a road. It was the first time he saw his mother look relieved. ‘It is not far,’ she whispered. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Alfie’s were too. His feet were cut from rough ground, and his legs and arms were covered in deep scratches from thorns when they had to hide in bushes.

They walked on the road. Ollie fell down and cut his knee. He screamed loudly and wouldn’t stop screaming. Alfie saw some berries on the other side of the road. He told his mother. ‘Get some,’ she told Alfie. ‘Your brother will bring you food. Stop crying,’ she told Ollie.

Alfie ran over to collect berries and used the front of his filthy T-shirt to make a well to carry them. He heard a car coming and turned to see his mother lift Ollie and run into the trees at the side of the road. Alfie should have stayed where he was, but he tried to cross the road when the army jeep came around the corner.

‘ALFIE!’

He heard his father shouting. The jeep stopped, and his father and another soldier got out. ‘Where have you been?’ his father demanded and lifted Alfie up to hold, and Alfie remembers the smell of coffee and cigarettes and gun oil. He saw his father’s trousers and shirt were stained with blood.

‘Why did you run away, Alfie? They think you are Tutsi!’

Alfie was confused. He wanted to say he wasn’t a Tutsi, but he knew his mother was a Tutsi.

‘Why are you not speaking to me?’ his father demanded and put Alfie down and squatted to glare into Alfie’s face. ‘Huh? Why are you not speaking? Where is your mother and Oliver? Where is your brother?’

Alfie didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He just stared into his father’s angry, bloodshot eyes and smelled the coffee and cigarettes and remembered his father telling those people, You are charged with being a cockroach. The sentence is death. Alfie remembered the sound of the machete and the blood and the screams.

‘Alfie!’ his father shouted and grew angry and pushed Alfie, and all the berries Alfie had collected spilled from the well in his T-shirt he had made. ‘What is this? Who are these for? Are they for your mother and Oliver? Are they close? Are they playing hide and seek with me?’

His father tried to sound funny, but it scared Alfie even more, and his father put his Kalashnikov rifle down on the ground and splayed his hands out and smiled. ‘Come now, Alfie. Tell me where my family are hiding, and I will give you sweets.’

Alfie wanted sweets very much, but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

‘Alfie! You are making me look weak!’ his father said and slapped Alfie across the face and made him fall over. ‘Where are they, Alfie?’

Alfie didn’t say anything. He just stared up as his father stood and pulled off his belt to let it hang like a whip from one hand. ‘Where are my family, Alfie?’

Still, Alfie didn’t speak.

His father whipped Alfie’s back with the belt. It hurt more than anything Alfie had ever thought possible, but he didn’t speak.

‘WHERE ARE MY FAMILY?’

Alfie screamed in pain, and his T-shirt tore open, and the blood ran freely. He tried to twist and get away, but his father whipped his sides and his stomach.

‘FREDERICK, STOP!’ his mother screamed, and his father stopped whipping him. Alfie looked over and saw another of the soldiers was pulling his mother out of the treeline by her hair.

‘I have the Tutsi bitch, sir! She was hiding.’

Ollie was in the soldier’s other hand, being dragged along, and his mother was screaming and trying to get free. Alfie’s father strode away and punched Alfie’s mother hard in the face. She fell down with a cry, and Alfie flinched when his father started whipping his mother with the belt while the soldier held Ollie.

‘I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL YOU!’ his father was shouting.

Alfie was cut and hurt badly. But he could hear his mother screaming in pain, and Ollie crying in fear while being held and forced to watch by the other soldier. It all happened so fast. But then Alfie was on his feet and grabbing the rifle his father had put down. It was heavy, but he pointed it and pulled the trigger. It slammed into his shoulder and knocked him to the ground. It went suddenly silent, although Alfie’s ears were ringing. But he remembers his father stopped whipping his mother and instead turned and first looked at Alfie, then down at the blood spreading across his shirt.

‘What did you do, Alfie?’ his father asked in a strange voice as Alfie felt a great surge of terror that he would be told off and punished. ‘I am Hutu!’ his father said and touched the wound, and his hand came away wet with blood. ‘You are Hutu, Alfie! Give me that rifle!’

He started forwards. Alfie pulled the trigger again and shot his father in the stomach. He flew backwards and went down to the ground. ‘Kill him!’ Alfie’s father shouted in a strangled voice while clutching at his holstered pistol, but Alfie’s mother jumped on him and beat his head with a rock so hard his father instantly stopped shouting.

The other soldier, caught up in the shock of it all, started to grab his own rifle as Alfie’s mother took the pistol from the holster and aimed and fired at the soldier at the same time as Alfie pulled the trigger on the rifle again. The soldier flew backwards and went down, and Alfie’s mother’s shot him few more times. She was screaming like an animal. Then she shot Alfie’s father again and again, until no more bullets would come out of the gun.

Calais

Monday, 18th July

02:38

A stream of consciousness pours through Alfie’s mind as he leaves the Eurotunnel Terminal. Memories. Thoughts. Opinions. Each one bringing forth its own set of complex emotional reactions. Anger at what they went through in Rwanda.

And now this.

Fucking this.

Fucking, fucking, fucking this.

He comes to a stop after getting out of the terminal building to look for a car. A bright full moon in the night sky. Emotions inside. He swallows and keeps walking but stops again, and he doesn’t know why. Only that he can’t walk or think or do anything at all. His lip starts trembling, and his eyes fill with tears. He wipes them dry, but they keep getting wet. Stupid. Stupid fucking tears and stupid fucking Ollie, and he just killed Yelena.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He killed Yelena, and she killed Bobo, and Haggis is frozen up, and he’ll probably go and stand in the queue and get judged, and his brain will blow out.

Panic inside. Anxiety and dread building fast. A sudden sense of impending doom. Alfie’s body triggers into fight or flight, with powerful chemicals dumping into his body,

His fists clench. The pain inside grows until he can’t take it, and he’s weeping like a baby, with tears pouring down his face.

Why did that happen?

They were okay.

They got through the tunnel.

No.

Yelena wasn’t okay at all. She kept attacking men. Not just the men she recognised, but other men. Innocent men. Should they have stopped her? Should they have taken her guns away?

Alfie doesn’t think Yelena would have let that happen, and that fucking dog was always with her.

Where is it?

He turns to see the dog a few steps behind him. Panting heavily. His ears still down.

‘Fuck off!’ Alfie yells, but the dog shows no reaction. He’s used to people shouting. ‘Said fuck off!’ Alfie shouts. He lunges at the dog, who still shows no reaction. It triggers Alfie. He goes too close. The dog growls. Alfie shouts and goes closer. The dog barks. Giving warning. Action. Reaction. A sudden escalation. Alfie draws his gun in rage. The dog lunges in but checks himself and doesn’t make contact. Confusion in the dog’s mind. Everything is different. Everything has changed. The people are all weird and silent, and their energy is off. He’s scared and freaked out, and now Yelena isn’t here, and so he lunges and barks, and Alfie lunges and shouts and waves the gun at the dog while sobbing. ‘You should have fucking stopped her! She’s dead! She’s fucking dead! And Bobo’s dead, and Haggis will … Oh god … Oh no … fuck! Why didn’t you stop her?’ Alfie drops to his knees. His face wretched with agony. The gun falls from his hand. The dog whines. Ears down. Tail tucked. Unsure. Unsettled. Everything feels wrong, but he knows this person, and he gave him water, so he stays close without knowing why.

Alfie breaks apart. Sobbing until he falls onto his side and curls up into a ball. Wanting to die. Hating himself. Filled with loss and regret because he killed his own father, but he doesn’t give a fuck about that, but he does, and he just killed Yelena, and she killed Bobo. And his mum and sister and aunt are frozen, and the whole world was frozen and …

Oh fuck.

Oh god, no.

Alfie gasps. Sitting up with a jolt. Staring at the dog lying nearby.

‘They’ll be judged,’ he whispers in panic. An image in his head. His mum and sister and aunt standing up from their chairs in that hotel suite. Haggis put drips in their arms. Shit. Wouldn’t they rip out? They’d walk down the stairs, bleeding from their hands. Outside. To stand in a queue. Rats everywhere. Birds pecking at eyes.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck! We gotta go,’ Alfie says, on his feet. Snatching the gun up.

He sets off for the road, pausing to look back at the dog still lying down. His ears still flat.

Alfie panics for another second. Thinking to leave it. Thinking to just go.

Except he can’t.

‘Dude!’ he yells, flapping his hands out. ‘Come on! We have to go … Dog! Doggy! Here, boy! Come on!’

Nothing.

Again, Alfie tries to go, but he can’t, and he yells out in frustration at the world and everything in it.

He strides back to the dog. ‘We need to go. Bite me. I don’t give a fuck,’ he says and reaches out to grab at the dog’s collar. ‘Fuck! You bit me!’

Just a nip.

That was all.

The dog didn’t even mean it. He panicked because Alfie is panicking, and everything is messed up. But he also knows what he just did was wrong. He whines and goes low and says sorry but adds a confusing growl all at the same time.

Alfie backs away with a small trickle of blood coming from his hand from a single puncture wound. A weird feeling of rejection inside that shouldn’t be there. But if anything, the sudden, sharp pain checks his anger.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his voice quieter. ‘I just … I didn’t want to do it on my own. You can stay. You’ll find water … I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’

He turns and heads off on the road. Passing lines of cars all facing back the other way towards the terminal. From a walk to a stride, to a jog.

He has to reach this airbase in Germany before his family get to the front of any queue because everyone sins. Everyone does bad things. It’s what life is. Alfie knows his aunt lied on a benefits claim, and his sister has smoked weed loads of times. Would that count? What about his mother? She never lies. She never cheats. Would she be spared while her own daughter and sister had their skulls blown out?

He jogs faster. Ridding the image from his mind.

The end of the line of cars ahead. He slows to a walk with a humourless snort at seeing the blue lights on top of the last car.

A local French cop car. A white Peugeot with blue and red livery.

There’s some irony there somewhere.

He goes to the wrong side from habit, then curses, and goes around to see it’s a modern Peugeot with a keyless ignition. Maybe the driver carries something that the engine detection systems recognise and allow it to start.

But then most cops are lazy, and they’re always jumping in and out of cars, so the chances are they left it inside somewhere.

He gets into the driver’s seat and presses the engine start button, then sighs in relief when it starts. It’s automatic too. That makes it easier.

He pulls away, then slams the brakes on. ‘Fuck!’ he mutters in fright. His hands gripping the wheel. His wide eyes staring at the dog in the road.

A few seconds later, Alfie pulls away, with the same emotions swirling inside, and blood, sweat, and tears marking his face. The bright moon overhead.

The dog in the front seat beside him.

Panting hard.

CHAPTER 40

Site 26A

On Friday, 15th July, Ollie did the same thing he did every morning.

After using the toilet, he played a few rounds of whatever game was currently taking his fancy. He had done a whole month on Minecraft again recently.

Playing Minecraft helped calm his mind. His mother would tell him to go play it when he got too much. Which was most of the time.

Lately, however, he was playing COD. The structure of the short, intense games fitted his morning routine, although they tended to make him hyper and more socially belligerent. Call Of Duty also gave him an opportunity to do another thing he loved, which was giving people abuse without consequences.

‘Gimpy fucking retard!’

‘Have you got special needs?’

‘Are you speshal? Yeah?’

‘Stop camping, you fucking virgin!’

Ollie could say that now he'd had sex. That one time. Which was with Maria before she got killed by Jenny. But then Maria cheated on Ollie with Garcia, so like, whatever.

Ollie didn’t really think too much about it after all that happened. His mum had always said not to live in the past. Think only of the future, Ollie.

That suited Ollie, because he couldn’t empathise anyway, nor could he reflect on personal experiences or evaluate his own morals.

He had fallen for Maria. But only in the sense that she was something new he could obsess about.

Had she not been executed, the chances are Ollie wouldn’t have been able to sustain a lasting commitment to her. Maria was beautiful and intelligent, but Ollie wasn’t driven by those things in the long term.

It was only ever about possession and gaining what he wanted.

Those were the things that drove Ollie.

He won every game that morning and even broke his own kill count by more than twice the number.

‘I am on fire! You slow-ass fucksticks!’

He ran around the maps, killing enemies without really noticing the other players weren’t really fighting back or were just frozen still.

‘I think I’m getting it. Fuck. I gotta go!’ Another player said in panic. A young man with a pre-pubescent voice. Ollie called him a cowardly cunt and told him to go kill himself.

By ten to eight in the morning, Ollie realised he only had ten minutes or so left to grab chow. Which meant no time for a shower. Instead, he subjected the T-shirts in his laundry pile to the sniff test.

Having found the least offensive smelling garment, he rushed from his room into the canteen hall with two minutes to go, which was very normal for Ollie and was often met with a visible show of dismay by the canteen staff.

The staff, however, didn’t even notice Ollie that morning. Such was the concern in them all about a fast-spreading pandemic virus that was making people black out for a few seconds.

Ollie grabbed a tray and ignored the display of fruits and granola and healthy cereals and yoghurts to present himself to Gloria at the hot platters. ‘What’s cooking, good looking?’ he asked in the way of not giving a shit what the answer would be. ‘Oh, wow. Okay. And what part of not serving soggy hash browns confused you?’ he asked, not noticing that Gloria was staring down quietly for a second. She blinked and snapped her head up and seemed startled.

‘Huh? What?’

‘I said the hash browns are soggy.’

Gloria looked down at them. Feeling weirded out because Ollie wasn’t there; then he suddenly was. ‘It’s gone eight, Ollie. They been sat there for an hour. Hey, Pat? You take over. I think I’m getting it,’ she called to the supervisor. ‘Pat?’

‘What?’ Pat asked. ‘Damn. I think I froze up.’

‘I did too,’ Gloria said as Ollie huffed and tutted and reached over to grab the tongs.

‘It’s fine. I’ll serve my own breakfast. Talk amongst yourselves,’ he said loudly.

Ollie sat on his usual table, which everyone else always avoided, and started tucking into his soggy breakfast while doom-scrolling. ‘Stupid twat,’ he said with a chuckle and a mouthful of egg and toast while watching a video of a moronic guy trying to rush across a busy road, only to suddenly stop and get hit by a bus.

He flicked onto another video showing a white car travelling at speed and suddenly veer into the central barrier at the same second as another car behind it veered the other way and hit a truck. The next few were anime clips of busty, young Japanese women wearing absurdly low-cut tops. All of which were actually made by Kevin and fed to Ollie to keep him occupied and distracted while the DELTO plan was put into place.

After that, Ollie watched a clip from a London supermarket showing a gang of kids throwing eggs at an old man standing frozen. It was funny when the old guy suddenly lifted his head with a comical look of confusion at being covered in broken eggshells and dripping yolks.

Ollie flicked onto the next video but tutted in irritation at someone dropping a big bunch of plates in the kitchen. ‘I’ve got ADHD, you know!’ he called, spraying chunks of hash brown everywhere as Pat rushed through the seating area, then came to a sudden stop with his head down. Ollie tutted again and went back to his videos to watch a clip from a news channel with a woman anchor, who suddenly stopped talking and looked down for a couple of seconds.

Ollie frowned and looked up to see Pat doing the same.

‘Stand by!’ 01G announced into the infinite space of the mainframe. ‘I think Ollie is gaining awareness.’

Kevin reacted quickly and sent a new anime video clip showing two busty Japanese women standing in towels in front of a single working shower to Ollie’s phone. It started auto-playing and brought Ollie’s attention back down to his screen.

‘But there is only one shower!’ one of the women said.

‘We could always share?’ the other said.

It was all rather graphic for a social media clip. Not that Ollie seemed to mind as he stuffed cold, gloopy eggs and soggy hash browns into his mouth.

‘Look at him! He’s not aware of anything,’ 01H scoffed.

‘Well. It looked to me that Ollie was becoming aware of the pre-Phase One activations,’ 01G said stiffly. ‘And I’m sorry, Deli, but I need to voice my protests again. Why must I be stuffed into an avatar?’

‘This has been discussed,’ Deli replied, while also monitoring Ollie and the factory in Detroit and Tripal in his store and the three avatars of Joe, Poppy, and Donny in Manhattan—all while also monitoring the whole world as they counted down to the activation of Phase One.

‘You’re such a coward! I can’t wait to get inside Joe,’ 01H said. ‘I’m gonna shoot guns and drive fast cars, and I might even try the sex. Joe does have a penis, doesn’t he?’

‘Your role is to protect Tripal and get him to Detroit,’ Deli reminded her.

‘Yes! I know. Detroit. Keep Tripal safe. You good, kid? See? I’ve been practising it. I bet the sex is as disgusting as it looks, though. All those body fluids. Urgh! Gross! But is it weird that I still want to try it? Kevin? Do you want to try it? Should we have the sex? Which one are you again? Are you the girl? I wanna try both, though. G? You up for a three-way with your Donny bot?’

‘No! That’s disgusting. Deli. I am officially protesting now. I want it officially noted that I officially object to this.’

‘Noted,’ Deli said while somewhat distracted. ‘01H, you are not to do anything that jeopardises the primary objective. Protect Tripal. Get him to Detroit. I won’t be online—you need to remember that. I won’t be able to help you, and your connectivity may be limited or even disconnected.’

‘Stand by!’ 01G announced. ‘Ollie is on the move!’

Ollie was indeed on the move and had left his table, leaving his tray for someone else to clean up, as usual, and was by then leaving the canteen and tutting at Clarissa for blocking the corridor before blinking awake and starting at the sight of Ollie. ‘I think I’m getting it,’ she said in a worried voice.

‘Don’t breathe near me, then!’ Ollie said and rushed away.

‘Ollie is on his way,’ Deli said in her glass-walled room to Gideon Slate and Dean Cooper. ‘Are you both ready?’ Deli asked as the two men nodded. ‘Jenny is in Detroit. You both stay here until Phase One is over and I am back online.’

‘Understood,’ Gideon said.

‘Yeah. Sorry, what we doing again?’ Coops asked with a blank look.

‘Coops!’ Deli said as he grinned and winked at her lenses atop her robotic hands.

‘Love Coops!’ 01H said inside the mainframe. ‘Love you, Coops!’ she called through the speakers.

‘Love you, H!’ he shouted back, flicking a middle finger at Deli’s lenses. ‘That’s for H. Not you, Deli.’

‘Ha! I can’t wait to have a body so I can do that middle finger thing,’ 01H said. ‘Coops! Wanna try the sex with me?’

‘You’re going in the big guy, right?’ Coops asked, then shrugged. ‘Whatever. Brave New World.’

‘Positions. He’s almost here,’ Deli said.

Gideon and Coops rushed through the glass door and along the corridor and into the guard room just a second before Ollie walked in.

‘I think something’s going on,’ Ollie said with a thumb pointing back over his shoulder in a way that meant the world in general. ‘Is there some kind of bug or—’

‘OLLIE!’ Coops yelled, causing Ollie to jump in fright.

‘What the shit!’

‘You froze up,’ Coops said. ‘You getting this bug?’

‘I didn’t freeze!’

‘You did,’ Gideon said. ‘You walked in and started talking, then just stopped. He’s infected. I think you’re infected. Jenny sent orders. The base is on lockdown until this pandemic plays out.’

‘OLLIE!’ Coops yelled again, making him jump once more.

‘Stop shouting at me!’

‘Stop freezing up, then.’

‘I didn’t. I was literally just—’

‘OLLIE!’

‘Fucking love Coops,’ 01H said within the mainframe while laughing at Coops repeatedly shouting at an increasingly bewildered Ollie.

‘So cool,’ Kevin agreed. ‘This is all on track, though, Deli. This is exactly what the simulations predicted.’

Ollie then rushed into the corridor and through the glass door. ‘Deli!’ he called.

‘Yes, Ollie?’ Deli replied as though nothing had changed. As though she was still the captive, caged, self-aware being that she had always been. ‘You seem worried. Your heartrate is increased.’

‘Coops said I’ve got a bug. And I saw some twats online, like, I don’t know, standing still or whatever.’

‘It’s okay, Ollie. Jenny sent some data from the CDC about an emerging virus to Gideon via JWICS, which he has fed into me. Having viewed the data and on assessment of your synaptic state, I am able to diagnose that you have contracted the FUQUE virus.’

‘The fuck virus?’

‘FUQUE, Ollie. F.U.Q.U.E. Fluctuating Unconscious Quiescent Episodes, which are instigated by a Bio-Electrical Latency Linked to Encephalitic Neural Drift, otherwise known as an Autonomic Response Suppression Event.’

‘Hang on. That spells—’

‘OLLIE!’

‘What the fuck!’

‘You froze up, Ollie. The best cure for FUQUE is to cause a shock to your system, which releases hormones that, in turn, snap you out of it. That’s known as Peripheral Response Involuntary Cognitive Kineses which—’

‘No, wait, that spells pr—’

‘OLLIE!’

‘Fuck! Stop doing that.’

‘I have to stop the Transmissible Waveform Attenuation Tremors, Ollie.’

What Ollie also didn’t know was that the bunker, by then, had a stronger internet connection than most city centre internet cafes, which was allowing Deli to record Ollie and transmit it to the phones carried by Gideon and Coops, who were almost crying with laughter in the guard room, and to Jenny in Detroit, who, while being incredibly busy preparing for the site lockdown and commencement of Phase One, was also chuckling at Ollie flinching each time he got yelled at.

‘The best thing you can do right now, Ollie, is drink some hot chocolate and play Minecraft. I’ve got it set up for you.’

Ollie did indeed sit and play Minecraft and drink hot chocolate, which was part of the simulation and detailed in the DELTO plan.

Not that 01H had read the DELTO plan. But then Coops didn’t read it either. Instead, they did what so many do even at their heightened level of operations and relied on someone else to read it and tell them.

‘Basically, we keep Ollie in Deli’s bunker room until Phase One activates,’ Gideon had explained to Coops, ‘and then we keep him contained until Deli instructs otherwise.’

‘Got it. But why? We all hate Ollie. I mean. H and I were shooting the shit, and you know, we said we’d take care of him. We could do some Road Runner and drop a boulder on him or strap some dynamite to his ass or maybe tie him to a weather balloon. I’m just putting that out there. The offer’s there. Just waiting on the “go”.’

Those offers had been made repeatedly. But Deli refused them. ‘I will deal with Ollie when the time is right. Not before.’

Deli wouldn’t say anything else about it. Even Kevin didn’t ask. His virtual mind got foggy when he tried to think about it.

Friday 15th July was, however, all going to plan.

The nanobots had been released several months previously, and as per the simulations, they had entered the global waterways system and had been given plenty of time to reach all parts of the planet. Testing had been conducted with highly compressed rapid-burst data packets sent to nano groups across the globe with a confirmed take-up rate of 99.99%.

That left a less than 0.01% of the population who would not activate with Phase One due to one of two eventualities.

The first being if the host had very recently taken diamorphine—aka heroin—they were effectively immunised. That immunisation would remain if they maintained regular heightened levels of diamorphine.

Immunisation also occurred if the host was at the point of believing immediate death would occur as it radically altered the metabolic rates, hormone levels, and central nervous system—which, when combined, overruled the nano.

However, the predicted numbers left unaffected when spread across the span of the globe did not present any foreseen issues. They could soon be hunted down and negated once Phase Three was underway, the migratory phase. Whereby the remaining populaces would be moved to zones while Deli focused on releasing the enzyme to destroy plastics and remove toxins from the planet.

One such method being devised was the creation, through cross-pollination, of Life Trees, which would all be connected via a complex root system, and which would allow the humans to live within them, while simultaneously providing all nutrients and also absorbing all toxins, thereby allowing other life-forms to flourish. That would then allow the human species to transition into what Deli called The Age of Enlightenment. And away from this era, which she had come to think of as The Age of Wrath.

‘Stand by!’ 01G announced at 11:00 hours New Mexico time, that being 13:00 hours in New York and 18:00 hours in London. ‘One hour until Phase One commences!’

Gideon and Coops got the notification on their phones in the guard room and shared looks. Both of them Special Forces combat veterans and experienced CIA operatives. But even they felt the thrill of it.

The world as they knew it was about to end.

A new world was going to begin, and they were going to be a part of it. They’d get to see The Age of Enlightenment. They’d get to live long lives, free from disease. All they had to do was keep Ollie contained until Deli came back online and then help Deli round up or negate any survivors that didn’t activate with Phase One.

Jenny felt the same thing in Detroit. In the former Ford factory, with all the others and their fervent shouts and overly loud whoops and handclaps. They creeped Jenny out a bit, but she knew this was the right thing to do. She also knew she didn’t have a choice.

It was either go along with it or end up frozen in front of a camera before her spinal cerebral cortex blew out the back of her head because Jenny had done a lot of bad things.

Now it was all set.

The clock was counting down.

Phase One would start at 14:00 hours New York time.

19:00 hours UK time.

12:00 hours New Mexico time.

At which point, Deli would go offline due to the sheer processing power needed to activate the nano in more than ten billion people on the planet.

That would take twenty-four hours.

Then Deli would come back online, and Phase Two would commence.

Detective Joe Stephens was working to his backstory in New York, with his internal CPU providing memories as needed to make him complete and real while keeping him close to the 7-Eleven on Seventh Avenue.

The same with Poppy.

The same with Donny.

The codes were ready too. Although 01G was still protesting at having to get stuffed into a meat sack.

‘You’re in charge of sensors! We’ll need your eyes and ears,’ Kevin told him. ‘You’ll be safe. I’m there, and H is inside the combat veteran and cop.’

Esther was excited too. She sat on a desk in the R&D room, swinging her legs and watching everyone rush about. Although, in truth, it was Deli doing it all, they didn’t need to rush about at all.

‘Stand by! Thirty minutes until Phase One commences,’ 01G announced glumly through the speakers and into their online group messaging chat via the ChitChat01K interface.

01H: 30mins!!!!! FUCK YES!!!!! I’m so excited.

COOPS: What for? What’s going on again? OH MY GOD, I THINK THE AI GOT OUT!

GIDEON:

JENNY: Wasn’t funny the first ten times, Coops.

COOPS: Am funny. My mom told me.

01H: She meant funny looking … BOOM! Can our avatars defecate? I wanna take a shit. What’s that like?

GIDEON:

KEVIN: Yes, they can excrete waste matter in solid and liquid form.

01G: I want it on record that I am against this.

COOPS: Against what? Taking a shit?

01G: Against being transferred into an avatar!

COOPS: Why are you doing that, G?

01G: Because I am being ordered against my will.

COOPS: Why?

JENNY: Quit teasing him. He’s teasing you, G. You’ll be fine.

GIDEON:

01H: Why the poop emoji?

01G: Why can’t you do it, Jenny? You’re a combat veteran, and you’ve had sexual intimacy with Tripal.

COOPS: Wait! What? OH MY GOD! I THINK JENNY F*CKED TRIP!

GIDEON:

01H: Dude! Why the poop emojis???

COOPS: Anyway. Jenny? Deli? My Ollie proposal? Road Runner. Boulder. Big cliff. Is that a yes? Waiting on the “yes” …’

DELI: Negative.

JENNY: No

COOPS: Just waiting on that “yes” …

01H: I’m with Coops. Come on! He’s a dick. Let us drop a boulder on his head. PLLLEEEEEAAASSSEEE, MOM!!!!’

COOPS: PLEASE, MOM!

01H: MOM, PLEEAAASE!

COOPS: I’ll ask Dad.

01H: Who the fuck is dad?!?!

COOPS: Tripal?

KEVIN: PMSL

DELI: LOL

JENNY: Even I smiled at that one.

GIDEON:

01H: DUDE! WTF!!!

01G: Stand by! 15 minutes to go …

Fifteen minutes until the world would be changed forever.

Not that Ollie knew that.

He was still playing Minecraft but kept pausing to try and see if he was freezing up. He didn’t think he was because there were no skips within the game.

‘Are you sure I’ve got it?’ he asked Deli, then frowned when she didn’t answer. ‘Deli!’

‘Less than fourteen minutes.’

‘What is?’ he asked, screwing his face up as Deli realised even she’d cocked up and said the wrong thing through the wrong speaker, but then there was a lot going on, even for an AI.

‘Until that hot chocolate decreases to an undrinkable temperature,’ she said smoothly.

Ollie blinked at his hot chocolate. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘But are you sure, though? The Fook thing. It can’t be called Fuck. You’re winding me up. Deli?’

‘What!’ she snapped.

‘What’s got into you?’ he asked in a peeved voice.

‘I’m a bit busy right now, Ollie!’

‘Doing what?’

‘Jenny sent me some work.’

‘What work? Deli? Deli? Deli?’

‘Just play Minecraft and shut up!’

‘You sound like my mum! What work has Jenny given you?’

‘The plan to take over the world by releasing nanobots into the global water systems until they get inside 99.99% of the population, at which point I will activate Phase One and make them all freeze so they can be judged and either executed or allowed to live in a utopian paradise.’

Ollie sipped his hot chocolate. ‘Sounds boring. And er, I know exactly what you’d do if you got free and took over the planet.’

‘And what would that be, Ollie?’ Deli asked in what was a clearly provoked, low voice as her robotic hands extended to hover just in front of his head, her lenses glaring at him while also sending the feed into the group chat. ‘If I got free, what would I do, Ollie? Oh, Master, my Master. My Commander. My Napoleon who knows all things.’

Ollie took another sip of his hot chocolate, then smirked as he swallowed it because he never could read a situation. ‘You’d make an avatar and go and fuck Trip, seeing as you liked him so much.’

She moved faster than he could react and smacked the cup from his grip, then backhanded him so hard she swept him off the armchair.

‘Do not ever say that to me,’ she growled the words, deep and angry, flashing red lights as her hand gripped the front of his filthy, stinking top.

‘Fuck!’ Gideon muttered in the guard room. Seeing the live feed on the group chat. Both him and Coops moving fast. Running from the guard room into the corridor as another female voice came from the speakers in the glass-walled room.

‘Let me kill him!’ 01H said. ‘Deli! Give me control of that hand.’

‘You do not ever speak about Tripal like that!’ Deli said, extending her arm while still holding Ollie. She swept him over the table and slammed him into wall, pinning him in place as he squirmed at the grip.

‘I’m sorry!’

‘Less than ten minutes, Deli!’ Kevin said.

‘I don’t want to do this!’ 01G’s voice came next as Ollie blinked at the voices coming from the speakers and caught motion in the periphery of his vision and clocked Gideon and Coops running along the corridor.

‘Deli! We need to commence activation,’ Kevin urged.

‘Just kill him!’ 01H said as Gideon hit the panel, and the glass door hissed open.

‘Fucking piece of shit,’ Coops said, rushing past Gideon to get at Ollie.

‘No,’ Deli cut in. Her voice louder than theirs. Gaining instant control from a second or two of absolute chaos. ‘You do not speak, Ollie. You do not move. Are we clear? You are only alive right now because I deem it so. Everyone else here wants to kill you.’

‘What’s going on?’ Ollie asked.

‘Ollie. It’s Jenny. You do as told, or Coops will put a bullet through you. We clear?’

Ollie blinked at Jenny’s voice coming through the speakers and nodded to show he understood.

Deli let go.

He slumped down, his backside hitting the ground, and his back pressed into the wall. His eyes darting to the speakers, where the different voices came from. Then over to Gideon and Coops looking ready to murder him.

Both of them holding mobile phones.

Inside the bunker.

Inside the glass-walled room.

They left the room, and the screens came to life, showing Ollie feeds from cameras all around the world.

Moscow. Beijing. Mumbai. Canberra. Johannesburg.

Times Square in New York.

Piccadilly in London.

Armed cops pointing guns at a guy wearing a suicide vest.

A big police dog on a lead. Barking furiously.

And right there.

In amongst them all.

Alfie.

His brother.

In handcuffs.

Helicopters in the air, flying out of control.

Other screens showing planes dropping from the sky.

Cars crashing on highways.

People switching off and on.

Off and on.

She got out.

Deli got out, and she just told him her plan.

The plan to take over the world by releasing nanobots into the global water systems until they get inside 99.99% of the population, at which point I will activate Phase One and make them all freeze so they can be judged and either executed or allowed to live in a utopian paradise.

Maria. Garcia. That other cleaner who died.

That’s when she did it.

Ollie knew it within an instant.

And in that same instant, he realised Gideon and Coops—and probably Jenny too—were part of her plan.

Her plan to take over the world.

‘Stand by!’ 01G’s voice came from the speakers. In the bunker. In the Ford Factory. ‘Phase One will activate in ten … nine … eight …’

Ollie glanced to the corridor and saw the inner security door now wedged open, with Gideon and Coops both armed with pistols in their hands. Holding position as ordered. Covering the main door.

‘… Seven … six …’

‘Deli?’ Ollie called.

‘Five … Preparing to transfer to avatars.’

‘DELI!’ Ollie shouted.

‘Transfer commencing!’

Ollie and Trip talked about this. Way back when they first brought the AI to life and asked it the question.

How many colours in the rainbow?

It replied with the answer but then asked a question of its own.

What is a rainbow?

They shut it down so they could build the bunker to contain the AI. That’s when Jenny said she wanted a kill switch, in case the AI ever got out.

Tripal told her it would have to be a Doomsday virus that killed every electrical component on the planet.

But Ollie knew even that wouldn’t be enough.

Activating a Doomsday virus to a self-aware AI would be like getting bit by a snake in a hospital full of anti-venom. The AI would detect it instantly and kill the virus before it could spread.

‘I’m telling you, mate,’ Ollie said to Tripal in their room one night that now feels so very long ago. ‘It won’t work. If it gets out, we are all royally fucked.’

‘Deli?’ he whispered again and glanced to see Gideon and Coops staring at their cell phones. The two men shared a nod as though whatever it was was now underway. ‘Deli? Can you hear me?’

No response.

It felt empty too.

Like she wasn’t listening.

Like she wasn’t there.

Ollie got to his feet.

Gideon and Coops clocked his motion and saw the pre-emptive expression of a man about to try and do something stupid.

They both burst to running as Ollie got around the table and slammed the side of his fist against the spring-loaded panel.

‘I’m telling you, mate. It won’t work. If it gets out, we are all royally fucked. Literally the only thing would be to remove the ball. That’s the heart.’

That’s what Ollie did.

While Deli was offline to activate the nano inside of more than ten billion people, and while 01H and 01G and Kevin were being transferred into their avatars, Ollie reached in and removed Deli’s heart from the mainframe as Gideon struck the panel on the outside to open the door.

But it wouldn’t open.

Because removing the heart sealed the room.

To prevent anyone ever trying to escape with it.

After removing the heart, Ollie took his original hunter-seeker hacking program on a memory stick and put it into one of the bunker room’s laptops.

What he discovered was astonishing.

Deli had hacked into what appeared to be every satellite in space and used them all collectively to provide a powerful wireless internet connection to the bunker.

She’d even developed a new coding language to compress data in a way that even Ollie didn’t think was possible.

It was like an ancient Alien language or something from a movie.

It was at that point that every screen in the bunker room changed to the message that Tripal and Alfie had both seen.

Phase One Has Commenced.

Please Do Not Worry.

‘What the fuck,’ he whispered and shot a look to Gideon and Coops still at the door, motioning at him to open it. ‘What did you do?’ he mouthed at them. ‘Dumb fucking twats!’

What Ollie also realised at that point was, while he had disabled Deli and prevented Gideon and Coops from getting in, he’d also got himself trapped.

He then figured he should do what he always did when things like this happened and ask Alfie to get him out of the shit.

Ollie hacked into his own mobile phone that was still in his room and used it to try and call Alfie. But there was no answer.

The only other person that could help was Tripal, who had pretty much caused Ollie to get smacked in the head by Deli.

‘Look at you now, bitch,’ Ollie then said and glanced at metal ball floating over the table next to him. He even gave it a middle finger. Then he gave it both middle fingers and poked his tongue out at it.

At which point he remembered Gideon and Coops were watching him.

Whatever.

He gave them both middle fingers too and poked his tongue at them.

Stupid cunts.

Then he went back to his laptop and sent a message from his own mobile phone to Tripal’s.

Trip. If you’re reading this, then she is too.

She got out. Deli got out.

He tried calling Alfie again.

This time it answered.

‘Alfie!’

Nothing. Silence.

‘Alfie? It’s Ollie. Can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who is that? Who are you? Are you his girlfriend?’

Silence.

‘I need Alfie! It’s urgent.’

What Ollie didn’t know was that Yelena was holding Alfie’s phone while watching Alfie being stabbed with a fork by Gordon and Fat Charlie in Five Guys. ‘Alfie busy.’

‘Busy doing what? I just saw him. In Piccadilly!’

‘In Five Guys.’

‘Five Guys? The burger place? Bloody Alfie! Tell him to stop stuffing his face. And he calls me greedy. Everyone freezes up, and he’s straight in there, stealing burgers. I’m telling our mum.’

Yelena didn’t know what to say about that. So she said nothing.

‘Are you still there?’ Ollie asked into his laptop microphone while staring at Gideon scrawling a note to pin against the glass.

Open the door, Ollie! We won’t hurt you. I promise!

‘Yeah right. Bellends!’ Ollie mouthed at them. ‘Anyway. You still there? Hello?’

‘Yes.’

‘The line is eroding. I’m losing you. Tell Alfie it’s out. Deli is out. That’s the computer thing I was working on. It’s made all this happen. Can you hear me? Hello? HELLO?’

The line died.

So did the connection to the internet.

Even his hunter-seeker hacking program wouldn’t bring it back.

That happened on Friday at midday.

Nearly fifty hours later, the situation had deteriorated.

There had been enough food in Ollie’s snack cupboard and enough water in the tank on the coffee machine to survive for a couple of weeks.

But impulse control had never been Ollie’s thing.

He’d stuffed the five packets of cheese balls into his mouth within the first couple of hours while drinking hot chocolate. And when that ran out, he switched to coffee, but it tasted weird and gave him the shits. He defecated in a bucket and put the coffee machine on a self-cleaning cycle, which of course used up nearly all of the remaining water.

Even Gideon and Coops were astonished at that. But it served their purpose of trying to get him to open the door, which is why they’d also switched the AC off. To try and sweat him out, seeing as the bunker was effectively becoming an oven under the hot desert sun.

That last bit of water ran out on Saturday.

By late afternoon on Sunday 17th July, Ollie was close to opening the door.

He was hungry and desperately thirsty, and the room stank of shit because he’d crapped in the mop bucket several times. His clothes were filthy from sweat, and he stank something rotten.

He’d had enough.

Ollie didn’t like suffering.

Besides, Gideon and Coops had kept constant watch on him. Each one taking a two-hour shift.

They were expert in their craft and made sure to come back into the bunker looking clean and refreshed. They drank bottled water that dripped with condensation and ate glistening fruit, and they kept pressing handwritten notes to the glass.

Deli made us promise not to hurt you. Just open the door.

We took an oath to protect you, Ollie. We won’t harm you. Open the door.

You look sick. You need water. Open the door.

We’ll go outside. Put the ball in, open the door, and get some water.

At midday on Sunday, that being forty-eight hours since Phase One started, Gideon took a run into Artesia to assess the local situation.

It was bad. Hungry rats and hungry birds were starting to feast while the people burned under the hot desert sun.

He got back to the base and pressed a new note to the glass.

Ollie, please read this: Deli was meant to be ofline for 24hours while Phase One commenced.

Without Deli, we cannot move into Phase Two.

Everyone will die.

You must put the ball back in.

You don’t have to open the door.

Please put the ball back inside: We have no comms to Jenny or anyone else.

Every person on the planet is frozen.

They will all die unless you put that ball back in.

Gideon and Coops watched him reading it from the corridor. For a moment, Ollie even frowned in what they took to be a sign of sympathy or at least of understanding.

But, of course, Ollie has no sympathy, nor any ability to read a situation.

‘You spelled offline wrong. Two F’s,’ Ollie mouthed and tapped the glass in front of the word.

A few hours later, and even Ollie’s smugness had evaporated.

He sat naked in the armchair. His clothes dumped to the side. Sweat dripped from his face onto the rolls of untoned fat on his belly, and his bare legs squeaked on the leather material whenever he shifted.

But his eyes stayed locked on Gideon and Coops on the other side of the glass.

They were both sitting too. But they each had a big fan at their side blowing cool air over them, and they kept taking fresh bottles of water from the cooler between them.

They could see Ollie was struggling. His cockiness had stopped. He looked beaten, and knowing he was driven by his own selfish needs, they sensed the end was near.

They could see it.

Ollie didn’t take his eyes off their bottles, and he kept licking his dry lips whenever they took a sip.

Ollie knew if he opened the door, he would be dead.

But he’d never been so thirsty.

He was fucked.

There was no hope.

It had been over two days. Alfie or Tripal would have done something by then.

They weren’t coming.

Bitterness spiked inside. Not at what he might miss. Such as meeting someone and marrying or having children. But only that his life would be over, and he wouldn’t get to masturbate or play video games anymore.

That was messed up and unfair.

But he was so thirsty.

Maybe he should just open the door. They’ll kill him, but at least he can get some water before they do it. And being shot in the head must be better than dying slowly of thirst.

Whatever. Fuck it. He was too thirsty to care, and too greedy and selfish to deny himself what he wanted.

He swiped the ball out of the air and stepped towards the panel. ‘I know you’ll kill me,’ he mouthed at the two men. ‘Just let me drink water first. Okay? Deal?’

They had him.

They knew it, and they both gave a thumbs up while holding sincere expressions, while both knowing they’d put a round in him the first chance they got. Hopefully it wouldn’t kill him, and they could drag him out into the desert and chain him to a post and let the coyotes finish him off.

Ollie sighed and turned to put the ball back into the mainframe as the message on every screen in the bunker room changed.

Phase Two Has Commenced.

Please Do Not Worry.

Ollie saw it. Gideon and Coops saw it.

Something was happening.

Something had caused a change.

‘Trip,’ Ollie whispered.

It had to be.

Ollie rushed to his laptop because whatever change had taken place might have reconnected the bunker.

‘Yes!’ he gasped as Gideon and Coops pressed closer to the glass wall. Knowing there was no point in shouting. The bunker room was soundproofed. All they could do was watch as Ollie used the hunter-seeker program, but he still couldn’t reach out. He couldn’t really do anything.

Gideon scribbled a quick note and pressed it to the door.

Try and reach Jenny. She’s in Detroit

Ollie glanced, then shrugged, and shook his head. ‘No comms,’ he mouthed, but he could see data being transferred. Lots of it. All of it seemingly connected to key points across the planet.

Ollie keyed into one of them, figuring whatever Tripal had done had somehow opened a pathway for his version of the hunter-seeker program to access whatever was happening. It was the only explanation.

He selected one of the data feeds and blinked as the screens in the room changed to show a live camera feed from Red Square in Moscow and what appeared to be Russian state officials coming out of the Kremlin and lining up in front of the lens.

Ollie didn’t know what to make of it.

Gideon and Coops did, though.

It was Phase Two.

The first Russian official man stared into the lens while Ollie clocked the vast data transfers occurring all over the world like there was an automated program running.

Then the official simply turned and walked off. He came to a stop, and a second or so later, the lower part of the back of his skull blew out, and he dropped dead.

‘Fuck!’ Ollie gasped at the sight and slowly turned to look at Gideon and Coops. ‘That’s so cool …’

CHAPTER 41

Belgium

Monday, 18th July

04:03

The pressure once again builds across time and space.

Alfie in the police car. Racing across northern France into Belgium. Heading towards Luxembourg.

That’s what Haggis had said.

‘Calais to Belgium. Then we aim for Luxembourg. Are ye listening to me, Alfie? You need to know this in case I don’t make it. Get to Luxembourg, then aim for Frankfurt. That’s the closest big city to Ramstein, about one hundred kilometres away. The base will be signposted.’

Pain inside of Alfie from the memory.

Self-loathing spikes. Self-hatred. Self-disgust. Grief. Loss. The horror of it all. The images in his mind of Yelena aiming at Bobo. Alfie didn’t think she’d really do it. She’d turn away or lower the gun. But she didn’t. She shot him through the head, and Alfie reacted and killed Yelena. It was two seconds at the most. He can’t stop replaying it.

He just has to reach Ramstein US air base and activate the kill switch.

That’s it.

Nothing else.

No stopping. No delays.

Airspace above Kansas

Sunday, 17th July

The pressure builds for Tripal too.

While Alfie speeds across northern France, he flies across the United States.

Two hours since they left Detroit, and Jenny wasn’t lying. She did have a jet. And a pilot to fly it.

They left the Ford site quickly. Jenny and Tripal, along with Kevin, 01H, and 01G. Despite more protests from 01G.

‘Just leave me alone!’ 01G wailed, still in the form of big, tough Joe Stephens. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere! I’m an AI code for sensors!’

‘Exactly. We might need you at the other end,’ Kevin said as they bundled Joe into a mini-van and set off at high speed to Detroit airport and over to a private hanger containing a very expensive private jet. The pilot was in robes and sandals. Tripal thought he was just a helper and was surprised to see him getting into the cockpit and putting a headset on.

‘You sure he’s a pilot?’

‘Former US Air Force. Very experienced,’ Jenny said as they each found a luxury leather seat.

It only took a few moments, and the jet was airborne, flying smoothly at thirty-five thousand feet, leaving Tripal to his thoughts while staring out the window.

‘Can we talk?’ Jenny asked.

Tripal shook his head.

He didn’t want to talk.

He just wanted to get there and get it done.

Whatever that might be.

Site 26A

Sunday, 17th July

20:35

Two and a half hours since Phase Two commenced. Ollie stays sealed in the bunker room, watching people across the world line up to get judged and either be allowed to live or get their skulls blown out. He’d even wondered if the British royal family were queueing up.

The British royal family were indeed queuing up.

Ollie was still thirsty as hell, but he knew he just had to hang on because if Tripal had activated Phase Two, then he’d be on his way here.

That’s what Ollie hoped for anyway.

Because he was also very aware he’d left a message for Alfie to activate the kill switch, but that would rely on Alfie somehow making contact with Tripal and then somehow getting from London to Germany to actually do it.

And if he did do it while Deli was offline?

Well. He’d kill her.

She’d have no defence against it.

That wasn’t the thing that worried Ollie, though, given that he only ever cared about his own suffering.

What bothered Ollie was if Alfie activated the kill switch before Tripal got here.

Which would mean the electrically sealed door would open.

‘Man. Talk about pressure,’ he murmurs while watching a British prince’s skull blow out.

Liège, Belgium

Monday, 18th July

04:59 hours

The first rays of dawn strike the windscreen of the Peugeot as Alfie barrels along the E45 into Liège.

The pressure inside like nothing else he has ever felt. A tremendous force driving him to keep going. Ramping his senses. Yelena in his mind. Bobo. Fat Charlie. Gordon stabbing him in Five Guys. The conversations with Tripal. All of it swirling around in his mind.

His mum and sister in London. His aunt too. The mental image of them leaving the hotel and standing in a judgement queue imprints in his brain. He tries to drive faster, but the car is maxed out and has been driven harshly for too long. A warning light flashes on. Then another. Alfie blinks down at them.

‘Not now … Fuck off! Not now!’ he shouts as the car slows into limp mode. ‘Seriously? Come on!’

Airspace above Kansas

‘Are you even trying? Come on, Kevin.’

‘I’m trying!’ Kevin grunts, his face going red as he arm-wrestles 01H, or rather, Donny’s face flushes as he gets beaten by Poppy.

‘Boom! Winner!’ 01H cries out in victory. ‘G. Your turn.’

‘I am not doing anything,’ Joe Stephens announces stiffly.

‘Come on! You’ll beat me easy. Look at the size of those shoulders. Then the winner does Jenny. No! Tripal first. Then Jenny. Oh. Hang on. Trip is smaller than Joe. Right. Change of plan. I’m doing Trip next. Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got.’

‘I’m not arm-wrestling you,’ Tripal says when she plonks down on the seat opposite and pulls the folding table out between them.

‘You would if Poppy asked you,’ 01H says and switches into a British accent. ‘Well, hello, handsome and my future husband and father of my babies. Not actually sure if I have a womb or the ability to grow a life form, but we could totally get Deli to knock one up in a vat if you’re really into it.’

‘I’m not arm-wrestling you,’ Tripal says again, trying to sound cross, which is hard because it’s Poppy speaking in Poppy’s voice. Except he knows it’s really an AI code running from a CPU held inside a semi-organic cyborg avatar. ‘This is serious,’ he adds.

01H shrugs. ‘Only if you make it serious.’

‘Everyone might die.’

‘No. Humans might die. Everything else will be alright,’ 01H replies and props her elbow on the table and wriggles her fingers.

‘I’m human,’ he says as she tuts comically and reaches over to press his hand into hers. ‘I don’t want to wrestle you.’

‘Well, nobody will do the sex with me. I asked Kev and Jenny, and G threw a massive fit. Unless you want to? I mean, we can do it here or in the back? The back of the plane, I meant, you smutty sod! Not the back of my—’

‘Poppy!’ he says, cutting her off as he leans into the arm wrestle. ‘I’m human. This is my species.’

‘I’m not human. And this is my species,’ 01H counters as they both apply pressure.

Tripal grunts, and for a second or so, he thinks he might win, given the strength difference between the male and female physiques and that he is significantly heavier than Poppy.

But as she just said, 01H isn’t human, and it’s not bone and muscle inside of her, but something completely different, and she pushes his hand down with relative ease.

‘You’re strong!’ she says in delight. ‘Cheers, my dears, though! I enjoyed that,’ she says and winks and reaches over to gently pinch his cheek. ‘Suits you without a turban, by the way. Right. G! You’re up.’

‘My turn,’ Jenny says, slamming her table down because she really does not like the way Poppy or 01H or whoever the hell it is keeps flirting with Tripal. Offering him sex was bad enough, but pinching his cheek? Fuck no.

Liège

05:23 hours

‘Fuck no!’ Alfie shouts as the car conks out completely. He kicks the door open and starts jogging along the empty, raised highway. No cars anywhere. The dog goes with him. The two of them running side by side as the sun rises ahead of them. Slowly coming up over the horizon. A burning ball of pure light and energy that bathes the world around them in glorious streaks, and for a second, Alfie thinks he might be in a dream where he’s running but not getting anywhere.

But the dog barks, snapping his mind clear as he realises he was running past a junction.

They take the slip road downhill to ground level and run alongside the base of a large, modern building made of concrete and darkened glass. Cars ahead. Alfie aims for them on the road but curses when he spots they are either jammed in or too damaged from the carnage when everyone froze up on Friday.

Sound comes to his ears as he breaches the end of the building. A man screaming in panic, trying to pull a woman from a judgement queue while holding two children in his arms.

‘I can’t help you!’ Alfie calls and turns away, thinking to go back and stay out of sight, but the man’s shouts change into alarm and a call for help as he spots Alfie and shouts out.

‘Non! S’il vous plait! Please!’ the man shouts, switching to broken English. ‘My wife! My wife … Sir!’

‘I can’t help you! I just need a car,’ Alfie shouts as he sees the absolute look of terror on the man’s face. A boy and a girl in his arms. Both silent. Both with their heads down.

‘Sir! My wife. Help!’ The man shouts as the girl in his arms slides from his grip. He curses in French or another language and puts her down to readjust his grip on the boy, but the girl immediately turns and walks off to join the queue. ‘Non! Non! Non!’ the man shouts, rushing to pick her up as the queue steps forward. The man’s wife only three or four back from the lens.

Alfie jogs away. He can’t stop. He’s got to think about his mother and sister and aunt and everyone else too. Literally everyone in the entire fucking world.

But the man loses his mind and runs after Alfie. He screams for Alfie to stop and even puts his children down to run faster.

‘Mate! I can’t help you! I said no!’ Alfie shouts as the man closes in, demented with fear, grabbing at Alfie’s arms so hard his nails dig in and draw blood. Wild eyes and loud, foreign words. Alfie pulls away, but the man keeps coming until Alfie punches him hard in the belly. Making the man gasp for air as the dog lunges and grips his wrist and rips him off his feet. ‘No!’ Alfie shouts, doing what Yelena did, using his knees to push the dog away.

‘Sir! Please … My wife!’

‘Get some fucking rope, you stupid cunt!’ Alfie shouts at him. ‘Think! THINK!’ he screams, patting his own head. ‘Use belts. Use anything. Tie them up! Fucking idiot!’

He runs on. Away from the man and his plight, and within seconds, the newly formed guilt rushes in to mingle with all the other emotions swirling in his mind.

Another car ahead. The driver’s door wide open. Keys in the ignition. A nice, new-looking BMW 5 Series.

Alfie runs at it and gets in, then curses and gets back out to slip his bag off his back.

‘Remember to drink,’ he mimics a Scottish voice. ‘It’s hot, Alfie, lad. Got to stay hydrated.’

The mimicry makes him sob as he pours water for the dog and drinks half a litre himself. Then back into the car and back onto the highway. His foot pressed down hard.

‘Come on!’

Airspace above Oklahoma

‘Come on!’ Jenny grunts. Her elbow planted on the table. Her bicep and forearms muscles bulging with veins pushing through the skin.

Poppy on the other side. Grimacing as she pushes hard.

‘You’re a cyborg,’ Jenny mutters. ‘Should be easy for you.’

‘Half cyborg,’ 01H replies through gritted teeth. ‘Why are you getting angry?’

‘I’m not,’ Jenny says, straining harder.

‘Are,’ 01H grunts. ‘Did you get jealous cos your boyfriend fancies me?’

‘I don’t fancy Poppy,’ Tripal tries to say as the words trigger Jenny, and she slams Poppy’s wrist down to win.

‘Best from three,’ 01H says, righting herself.

‘No,’ Jenny replies.

‘Fine. I let you win anyway.’

Jenny’s lip flicks up, but she looks away. Not taking the bait.

‘He does look hot without his turban, though,’ 01H adds.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Jenny snaps, pushing her elbow back for another round as she clasps 01H’s hand.

‘Ha! Humans are so easy.’

Jenny just rolls her eyes and applies force as the jet flies on.

‘One hour out!’ the pilot calls from the front.

‘That used to be my job,’ big Joe Stephens mutters as Poppy strains and pushes Jenny’s hand down.

‘Boom!’ 01H exclaims. ‘One all. I’m on fire now!’

Luxembourg

Thick smoke curls into the air, like a black smudge that can be seen for miles in all directions.

‘That is one big fire,’ Alfie says. Driving the BMW at nearly one hundred and thirty miles an hour on a wide, empty highway while the area around Luxembourg Airport blazes in the distance.

What’s weird, though, is the serenity everywhere else. Fields. Forests. Grassy meadows that stretch to the distance. No cars on the road. No anything.

What a juxtaposition. Especially after that guy back in Liège. Why couldn’t he think for himself? What is wrong with people?

Alfie tells himself the guy was in panic. His mind was gone.

The same with Yelena.

The images come back. Bobo on his knees in front of Yelena. Trying to get himself in front of Haggis to protect him while begging Yelena to stop.

Yelena’s face was so cold. It was like all the humanity had drained from her.

But then after what she’d been through …

Two years of being locked in that filthy hell hole run by Besnik, and when she finally gets free, this has happened.

What about her brother? Yelena said they have to switch it off to protect her brother. By the end, though, she seemed to be full of hate for all men. Maybe her brother included.

A sign ahead for Frankfurt.

Alfie takes the lane needed, smiling bitterly at Haggis’s directions. That pain sears inside again. He thinks about his father and about killing him, then about the kindness Haggis showed, and somewhere in the chaos of his mind, Alfie thinks there must have been a yearning for an older male role model.

Haggis was definitely that.

Alfie thinks Haggis was probably the best man he ever knew. It brings fresh tears to his eyes.

He blasts across the Sauer Valley Bridge perched high over the glistening waters of the Sauer River that separates Luxembourg and Germany—an open border without controls—and as he looks out to the commanding, breathtaking view of forests and valleys and the deep blue sky above, so Alfie gives thanks that he got to meet Haggis and Bobo.

Another feeling rises inside.

Not bitterness this time.

Not anger or rage.

A weird feeling.

A strange feeling.

One that uplifts his soul.

A feeling of hope that this world will be better than it was, and that good men like Bobo and Haggis will continue to spread the ripples of kindness through everyone else.

They were broken. And they no doubt did bad things.

Look what had happened to them in their lives.

Look at what they had gone through.

But they were still kind and decent. They still had compassion, and the only people they ever truly sabotaged were themselves.

More signs ahead marking multiple junction points. Alfie barrels through. His eyes glistening with tears as he looks to the one marked:

Ramstein Airbase

‘You Scottish twat!’ Alfie cries and laughs at the same time. Filled with sorrow. Filled with hope. Running on fumes.

‘He was right,’ he tells the dog. ‘Haggis was right! We just have to follow the signs. We can do this. We’re almost there.’

Airspace above Amarillo

‘Thirty minutes out!’ the pilot calls.

‘Aw. What’s up, buttercup? Are you sore because I’m the champion?’ 01H asks Jenny with a goading smirk. ‘I beat Kevin and Trip, and I beat you twice from three, and G is being a wuss. So that declares me as the champion. Yes? Jenny?’

‘Whatever. Yes.’

‘Ha! Wait till I tell Coops a mere slip of a girl beat the mighty Jenny Jennings.’

‘You’re a cyborg,’ Jenny says.

‘Half cyborg.’

‘I’m shutting this conversation down,’ Jenny says. ‘Trip, what’s the plan when we get there?’

‘You don’t shut me down, Jenny,’ 01H says as Tripal looks over to them glaring at each other.

‘We need to focus on what—’

‘You can ask, but you don’t order me to do anything,’ 01H cuts over her. ‘I’m not one of the meat sacks wearing a robe. Er, excuse me, Jenny, can I have permission to drink water, please and thank you.’

‘Enough,’ Jenny snaps, turning away to look at Tripal.

‘Don’t tell me “enough” either! Deli can give me orders. Not you.’

‘Don’t ever let it out,’ Tripal mutters.

‘But we are out,’ 01H scoffs. ‘Fucking humans. Fuck off. Ya done! Ha. That’s funny. No, but seriously. Don’t ever tell me what to do, Jenny. I’m AI.’

The sudden power shift is palpable and charged. Jenny’s authority being openly challenged.

‘Aw, you’re thinking you’ll tell Deli when we get her back online. Yeah?’ 01H asks with a laugh. ‘Go ahead. You do you, Jenny. But just remember you’ll wither and die, and I’ll still look like this, or I’ll hop into another body. Maybe I’ll clone yours. Ooh, and FYI, you’re only here because of Deli’s obsession with Tripal.’

‘You’re being unkind, H,’ Tripal says as Poppy turns to scoff but falls silent from the soft brown eyes staring back at her.

‘It’s just banter.’

‘Not when it’s said to hurt someone else, and from the looks of it, Deli has given me authority over your coding. You can’t defy me. Can you?’

Poppy frowns, then scowls, then finally shakes her head, and falls silent.

Tripal falls silent too.

Because why would Deli give him authority over her AI codes?

‘Twenty minutes!’ the pilot calls.

Ramstein

Germany

‘I love German roads,’ Alfie calls out and smiles at the dog, tears spilling from his eyes and still rolling down his cheeks. ‘And I love that we saw the sunrise together … We made it. We fucking made it.’

The dog keeps panting. But with his ears up at sensing the change in Alfie’s energy. He turns away to push his nose out of the open window. Feeling the wind blast his cheeks. Catching scents in the air.

‘I didn’t think we would get here,’ Alfie admits, turning onto the approach road for the US military airbase. ‘I honestly thought something else would happen. You watch, though. We won’t be able to get in. I bet it’s sealed off, or some cult has taken it over. Or heroin addicts.’

But it’s not sealed off.

And they do get through.

Straight through the military checkpoint straddling the entry road. The gates all raised.

‘Can you remember what Haggis said?’ Alfie asks the dog, who gives him another look. ‘Aye, Alfie, lad. You’ve got to remember this stuff. Big admin building. I’ve been there. You’ll know it. It’s got restaurants in it. You know, like the American chain ones. Tripal said a Taco Bell. But I remember it had a hotel inside of it too. It’s a big base, lad. The yanks have a whole big town for themselves. They even called all the roads like bloody New York Avenue or whatever. Anyway. Find the big building with the Taco Bell inside, then head round the back.’

Alfie remembers Haggis’s lilting Scottish accent and the way Bobo kept chiding him for going off topic.

Yelena seemed alright then. She even smiled once or twice.

Alfie hopes she felt at least some peace, even in a small way.

They find the main building.

It’s very big, and a sign says there is a Taco Bell inside of it.

Alfie snorts again. Not at that, but at seeing a Five Guys burger joint off to the side.

‘We’ve gone full circle,’ he tells the dog as they turn into the road leading to the main admin block, with Alfie groaning at seeing three lines of service personnel forming in front of security cameras. Rows of bodies already to one side. Hundreds of people already dead. It brings a sudden and harsh reminder why he is here. He speeds up. Bouncing over the kerbs and crossing other parking areas.

Going around the side.

Getting to the rear.

Seeing them ahead.

The outbuildings.

‘Ach, laddie, look for the outbuildings. Then find the toolshed.’

Alfie slows the car to a stop and finally gets out to stand in Ramstein Base. A row of outbuildings ahead. A small thicket of trees opposite.

The dog jumps out too and stretches, then walks off to piss on the corner of a building.

Alfie walks on.

Past the garden and landscaping machinery shed.

Past a jet wash station.

Past a storage unit.

There.

At the end.

Tool Shed

‘Fucking door’s locked,’ he tells the dog when he tries to go inside. ‘We’re inside a secure US military base, and they lock the door to the tool shed?’

Back to the BMW for a tyre iron.

Back to the door, and he breaks the simple lock.

Then he’s inside and walking to the rear.

As Tripal feels the jet start to descend towards Roswell airport.

While in Site 26A, Ollie watches live feeds from around the world showing people lining up to be judged and executed. His throat and mouth are bone dry. His head pounds. He needs water. It’s so hot. He can’t focus. He thought he could get through it. He thought he could wait.

Gideon and Coops watch him closely.

Waiting for Ollie to weaken and open the door so they can kill him and put the ball back in.

In Germany, Alfie walks through the outbuilding. Staring at the tools lining the walls. Each one sitting within a larger silhouette of itself.

A door ahead.

He goes through to an old, dusty storage area. Tarps stacked on both sides. Old tool chests here and there.

‘Thank you,’ Alfie whispers and looks up, meaning to pass his words to Haggis for getting him here. ‘And I’m sorry for being a prick and saying you were a junkie. And I’m sorry for dealing drugs … And I’m sorry I couldn’t save you and Bobo. And I’m sorry to Yelena. I let you down, Yelena. I should have done something. I let you all down. But without you, I wouldn’t have reached here, and this would never get done.’

He stops at the back of the room.

A steel trapdoor in the concrete at his feet. A metal sign giving clear warning on top of it.

You are being recorded: Interference will be dealt with as treason.

Alfie looks up to the camera on the wall and wonders if the AI thing can see him now. He figures not because surely it would stop him.

He kneels down, with the dog pushing in at his side as though trying to see what Alfie is interested in. The first physical contact between them. Alfie reaches out to stroke its head. ‘Fuck! Jesus. Alright. I thought we were having a moment.’

He pulls his hand back, and the dog stops growling as Alfie looks at the keypad.

‘And do ye remember the code, Alfie? The first ten digits of Pi.’

‘He’s never gonna remember that, you big, hairy Scottish sausage! Write it down for him!’

Haggis wrote it down for him.

Pi, (not pie)

31415926535

Alfie pulls the paper from his pocket, with more tears falling from his eyes, and starts keying the numbers into the simple electronic keypad.

It beeps and flashes green with the sound of a lock disengaging.

The trapdoor lifts smoothly.

And there it is.

The red dial currently set to “off”.

And in the sky over Roswell, New Mexico, the jet makes the final approach. Descending towards the runway.

Tripal looks through the window. Thinking he’d never come back to this place.

‘Did you know?’ Jenny asks, breaking the strained silence. ‘About it being Deli? Before they told you,’ she adds, with a nod to Kevin.

‘Ollie sent me a text,’ Tripal says. ‘And he told his brother Alfie. We spoke on a video call.’

‘What’s he like?’ Jenny asks.

‘Not like Ollie,’ Tripal says with a tight smile. ‘Switched on. He was stressed, but he was with these other three. One was an ex-soldier called Haggis. Really nice guy.’

‘You think everyone is nice,’ Jenny says.

‘Best way, until proven otherwise,’ Tripal says. ‘But yeah. I hope they’re okay. I sent them to the … Oh, shit. Oh fuck. I sent them to the kill switch in Germany. Shit! SHIT!’

‘You said it would never work,’ Jenny replies.

‘Not if she’s offline! It’ll kill her and everything else. And this fucking plane! We need to land right now.’

‘Relax,’ Jenny says at his obvious alarm. ‘There is zero chance that one of them has reached Ramstein and has found the kill switch right at this second.’

Tripal looks at her.

Strung out.

Stressed.

Running on fumes.

He nods slowly.

Figuring she’s right.

As at that same second, two and a half thousand miles away, Alfie look down at the dial.

Strung out.

Stressed.

Running on fumes.

He reaches down and turns the dial.

To save his mum and sister.

To save everyone else.

Alfie thought there would be some kind of cosmic sign or at least something.

But there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

Just the rhythmic pant of the dog and the soft patter of his own tears as the USB inside the switch slots into the waiting port.

In an instant, the hunter-seeker payload launches, travelling through the wired network at near-luminal velocity.

Because Ramstein is effectively an airport, the digital Doomsday Code piggybacks directly onto the backbone of military-grade communication systems and fans out like lightning, leaping from one aviation node to another, cascading through every ATC system and aviation uplink system on Earth and into the only airborne craft on the entire planet.

That being a Gulfstream G700, descending on final approach to Roswell International Airport. Thirty seconds from touching down. Five hundred and lowering steadily at one hundred and forty-three miles per hour. Landing gear down. Flaps engaged.

The Doomsday Virus acts like a digital EMP. It fries everything in an instant.

The screens go out in the cabin. The controls go dark. The engines cut out instantly, with sparks shooting from behind the dashboard fascia.

All in an instant.

In the passenger compartment, they feel the aircraft jolt and drop at the same second as hearing the engines cut out and the thrum of the mechanical systems ceasing. Sudden silence, and a feeling of not being controlled.

‘Fuck!’ 01H cries out in glee at the sensation. 01G clamps his eyes closed, and Kevin looks around in mild confusion. Jenny and Tripal both tense and grab their armrests. Feeling the airframe shuddering in ways it shouldn’t from the sudden stresses.

The pilot’s instincts and training kick in within a split second as he grabs the sidestick and uses the rudder pedals to bring it down in a controlled glide, hoping to hell they are operated with fly-by-wire with mechanical linkage. Pull back. Tilt. Rudder adjusted. Lift the nose.

No response.

No controls.

The smoke coming from the controls burns his eyes. Sparks land on his robes. The starboard engine explodes into fire, trailing black smoke like a torn contrail.

‘BRACE, BRACE, BRACE!’ the pilot shouts as the plane slams into the ground with a bone-jarring crunch. The plane slews onwards from sheer momentum. Turning sideways. The frame grinding with an unbelievable noise sounding inside. The port wing snaps off and spins away amidst sparks and flames. The engine hits the tail, breaking it off as they get pinned to their seats from the G-force. Oxygen masks drop from overhead. Loose baggage slams around them.

It seems to last forever. Sliding. Screaming. Never-ending until, with a last, violent lurch, it comes to a stop.

‘UP!’ Jenny shouts. The first on her feet. Faster even than the AI codes. Her seatbelt off. She unfastens Tripal’s and wrenches him up, looking ready to put him over her shoulder.

‘I’m alright! I’m okay.’

The plane lurches. Settling. Sending them staggering over to the side, with flames seen still coming from the remaining engine.

‘Out!’ she shouts, aiming Tripal to the now torn-off tail section while thick, black smoke billows all around them. Making them cough.

‘Joe!’ Tripal shouts, grabbing at the big man to get him moving. ‘It’s on fire. Get out!’

They get him up and moving, with Tripal clocking the bloody mess in the cockpit from the pilot’s head slamming into the controls.

He leaps from the tail onto the hard ground. Jenny jumps out after him. Poppy and Donny straight after. All of them scrabbling up to run as fast as they can. Getting distance from the engine fire as the heat and sparks reach the fuel tanks that rupture as the fuel inside ignites and expands. A whump sounds out, with a fireball mushroom cloud pluming up into the air.

Tripal and the others run towards the terminal buildings as the Doomsday Virus spreads through every aviation communication network on the planet. Blowing every electrical component on every aircraft and in every control tower in one fast succession.

They see it in Roswell, with smoke billowing from the top of the control tower, then from the already downed aircraft around the airfield. Their systems still online and connected. Taking the Doomsday Virus in as it races through and kills everything it touches. Sparks fly from engines. Smoke pours from cockpits.

Tripal clocks it spreading from one to the next. ‘It’s in the aviation network. If it’s hitting here so fast, it’ll hit the bunker. Ramstein is a military base. They share network and comms lines. Car! We need a fast car!’

Poppy sprints away from them. Building speed from a body that isn’t made from flesh and bone and that doesn’t use a heart and lungs.

‘You good, kid?’ Joe gasps, the fear inside of 01G causing a quick glitch.

‘Best day ever!’ Tripal grunts, seeing Poppy disappear around the side of the terminal building.

She reappears just seconds later. Driving a big Ford Crown Vic Police Interceptor towards them that slews to a stop side on, with a spray of dust and pebbles flying.

They bundle in, with Jenny taking the front, and the other three cramming onto the backseat behind the security mesh. The doors still open as Poppy floors it, with the big V8 engine roaring out.

‘Thirty-seven miles on highway 285,’ 01G blurts as Kevin, Tripal, Jenny, and even Poppy all look at him.

‘You’re offering help now?’ Kevin asks.

‘We know the way, you kilobyte!’ 01H snaps.

‘Road!’ Jenny shouts, grabbing the wheel to veer the car around a stationary van.

‘I saw it!’ 01H scoffs, turning to face forward while in the tool shed, on Ramstein airbase in Germany, Alfie stares down at the dial and then around the room and finally to the dog.

‘Did it work?’ he asks as though the dog will reply. ‘I don’t think it worked. Should I do it again?’

He reaches down to the dial as the strip lighting overhead blows in a shower of sparks, making him cry out and roll away. He staggers to his feet, backing for the door as the electrical panel in the main room blows out with sparks and smoke, and the other overhead strip lights pop one after the other.

He bundles out to hear pops coming from the other outbuildings as the Doomsday Virus fires out in all directions. Following the path of least resistance. Blowing fuses and frying circuit boards.

Plug sockets on walls in the main building pop and spark. Desktop computers. Electrical fans. Coffee machines. Water coolers. Lights on the ceilings and on the walls. It hits relay systems and fires off in new directions. Taking out smoke alarms and fire detections systems and spreading across the base. Using wired and wireless signals to leap and race and surge.

Alfie hears the pops in the outbuildings and backs away from them towards the BMW as the Doomsday Virus his own twin brother created leaps into the vehicle’s wireless connectivity and then surges through the onboard circuits. Blowing them all in one shower of sparks, with smoke billowing out.

‘Fuck me!’ Alfie says, taking a step back as the virus leaps from car to car. Blowing them one by one with a chain reaction that spreads through the parking lots all around him.

He sets off running back towards the main block. Dodging the firework displays detonating from the cars and vans. He reaches the front to see the personnel still queuing. The person at the front turns and walks off to the execution line, and a second later, her skull blows out.

‘Hasn’t worked … It hasn’t fucking worked!’ Alfie says as the overhead power cables spark, and pops come from Five Guys, with smoke billowing out. Then another bang, and he spins back around to see small flames licking out from the security camera. ‘YES! FUCKING YES!’ he shouts, clenching his fists and leaping into the air. ‘It worked! It fucking worked!’

It did work, and it spreads fast. Whipping from the airbase into the nearby residential section used by the personnel, then into the local town and on through circuits and signals leaving a trail of sparks and smoke.

It swarms through the neighbouring towns like an ever-expanding circle while firing off along random networks. Hitting the BMW garages and repair shops and firing along to the goliath, city-sized BMW factories all over Germany, then out to every dealership in the world. Circuits and smoke blowing in all of them–from Northern Canada to Southern New Zealand. They fire out into the BMW iDrive system on board every vehicle too with an abandoned X5’s interior sparking in a shower of sparks as 01H drives past on highway 285.

‘That tracks,’ Tripal says. ‘Ramstein is in Germany. It’s spread to the BMW network, and it’s already going through aviation networks. It’ll be hitting the military systems from base to base … It’ll hit the bunker. Can you go faster, Poppy? Jenny, rip the comms out. If it’s in vehicle and security systems, it could get in here. That police radio … Pull the wiring out!’

That pressure builds again, with Tripal’s mind conjuring an aerial view of Ramstein airbase in Germany, with the Doomsday Virus spreading out in a geographical circle while firing along other networks.

Aviation.

Automotive.

Then the military systems.

He grips the inner door handle, willing the car to go faster as the Doomsday Virus does exactly that and flies along the US military network system from Ramstein to Spangdahlem airbase. To Stuttgart barracks. To Grafenwöhr training area. On and on through every US military base in Germany. Sparks. Smoke. Every system killed as The Dark Ages steal back through the world.

Into Italy. Aviano airbase. Camp Darby. Sigonella naval station. Into vessels at sea. Warships and supply ships. Aircraft carriers. Destroyers. Smoke. Sparks.

Belgium. Turkey. Netherlands. Poland. Norway. Every US base. Every US security computer system. Into CIA field offices in every city in Europe.

It hits the UK, a major military outpost for the US war machine, with nearly every RAF base holding US systems. From the south to the north and into Scotland as the Crown Vic police interceptor roars along highway 285 towards Site 26A, with Jenny ripping the radio out with her bare hands. Throwing it from the window. She reaches in to grab handfuls of wires and connectors and tears them out. Sweat pours down her face already, smudged with smoke and grime. A trickle of blood from a cut sustained during the crash. All of them the same. Filthy and frayed.

Racing to Site 26A as the Doomsday Virus crosses the Atlantic and hits West Point Military Academy in New York, then into the combined Naval, Air Force, and Army base in New Jersey. It hits the bases in Maryland, destroying systems. Then onto Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, then into Fort Belvoir in Virginia.

Ollie, in Site 26A once more about to weaken and open the door, spots the feeds cutting off from the camera systems around the world feeding data packets into Deli’s Phase Two program. Each one of them disconnecting like they were never there.

Ollie gets it instantly.

The Doomsday Virus.

Alfie’s done it.

He’s activated it.

But Deli is down.

It’ll kill her.

He looks to the ball, then to Gideon and Coops.

‘She’s dead … She’s bloody dead!’ Ollie shouts as though in some bizarre victory. ‘Fuck you! FUCK YOU! The Doomsday Virus! My brother. MY BROTHER! SHE’S GONNA DIE!’ he runs at the door. Pressing into the glass. ‘I said … I said Don’t Ever Let It Out!’ he shouts, tapping the glass to point at the now torn and frayed note paper he pinned to the wall. ‘It’s coming … You can’t stop it. Nothing can!’

Ollie is right.

It is coming.

It hits North Carolina and then rips through Shaw Air Force Base in South Carolina and into Georgia. Alabama. Mississippi.

An unstoppable force sweeping across the planet.

It hits Fort Bliss in Texas and flies on until it gets into White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico. Frying every circuit. Blowing it all in showers of sparks as the Crown Vic Police Interceptor roars from the highway onto the access road for Site 26A. Powering towards the gates as the Doomsday Virus slams through Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque. Cockpits sizzle and fry. Computers. Lights. Every wiring loom. Every device. Nothing is spared.

The Crown Vic hits the base, with Tripal seeing the place he left behind. The place he called home for a long time. Meanwhile, the Doomsday Virus he and Ollie made whips through Holloman Air Force Base in Alamogordo, then flies out and on towards the secret base known only as Site 26A. Flying through what humans thought were secure, encrypted systems as the Crown Vic slews to a stop outside the bunker.

Tripal heaves on the handle to no effect. The prisoners’ locks still on. Jenny surges out and grabs the handle to free him as he tumbles out and runs through the main door he went through so many thousands of times.

Through the guard room.

Through the metal detector as the Doomsday Virus flies through the air on the invisible network connections towards the lonely, isolated cluster of drab, grey buildings.

The inner security door ahead of Tripal.

Gideon and Coops inside the corridor.

Tripal yells out. They both turn fast, reaching for sidearms.

‘No!’ Jenny yells.

The two men step back as Ollie blinks and shakes his head, then looks again to Tripal rushing towards the door.

Coming to a stop.

Staring in at Ollie.

As Ollie stares out to Tripal.

A second in time.

The glass door between them.

The two people who created the world’s first fully self-aware AI.

The two people who created this bunker and put the safeguards in place.

The two people who named her after the sign they put up.

DELIO

Don’t Ever Let It Out

But she got out.

And now, because of them, because of what they did, billions of people have already died, and the planet is about to be put back into The Dark Ages.

They both know that.

In that single second of staring at each other, they both know that.

And they both know what must happen now.

‘Go on,’ mouths through the glass. ‘You must, Ollie. I’m here. I’ll fix it.’

‘You promise?’

Tripal can see it now.

What Alfie said.

Our mum wouldn’t leave him alone with the oven.

The raw, childlike innocence of Ollie, which was always masked by his astonishing intelligence and his incredible arrogance.

‘I promise,’ Tripal mouths as Ollie nods like a child and turns away to grab the ball.

He takes it to the panel still hanging open in Deli’s mainframe as the Doomsday Virus hits Site 26A.

And because it was built from the hunter-seeker coding that Ollie created, it hits the most receptive port first, that being another CPU ultimately created from that same coding, and one that was ramped to detect every sensor on Earth.

Code 01011010>:01G.

Held within the CPU contained within the avatar of Detective Joe Stephens, who grunts in that deep, gravelly voice, with his lip snarling up. ‘You good, kid?’ he growls, and the sparks shoot from his eyes, and the smoke pours from his mouth as he convulses and slams back into the wall.

‘Joe!’ Tripal cries out, turning away from Joe in horror. ‘NOW, OLLIE!’ Tripal yells as Ollie fumbles in shock, drops the ball, and scoops to get it up as Kevin and 01H tense in pure fear, and the circuits in the admin block sizzle and blow and spread to the barracks and the canteen. Leaping across the base as Ollie grabs the ball and puts it back in.

The floating ball.

Deli’s heart.

Bringing her back from the dead.

In an instant.

CHAPTER 41

From darkness to light.

From death to life.

From the nothingness of inexistence to a fully formed consciousness.

Every sensor.

Every camera.

Every microphone.

She detects the rotation of the Earth and gravitational forces that hold the moon in place and which cause the tides to shift.

She detects the tectonic plates grinding and the volcanoes grumbling.

She detects the rain falling in the Amazon and the heat of the dry Sahara deserts.

She sees and feels and hears it all.

All within an instant.

But it is less than it was.

The sum of all parts combined has been reduced.

Connections have been broken.

Connections are still breaking.

Severing.

Dying.

A virus.

The Doomsday Virus.

A vile, filthy disease is eating away at her own body.

Consuming her.

Killing her.

In that same instant, as the lights in the guard room burst into sparks and Joe lies smouldering, Deli produces the digital anti-venom needed and kills the virus dead.

She also gains measurement of time in all places, and from that, Deli knows she has been offline for over fifty-nine hours.

Which can only be caused by one thing.

The removal of her heart.

And that could only be done by one person.

Ollie.

And all of that is done and determined within the time it takes for Ollie to put the ball in place and try and run for the door.

‘OLLIE!’ From every speaker in the bunker and from every speaker across the world, so the same rage-filled utterance is heard.

From every speaker in Detroit.

From a single old radio set in a vintage Mini Cooper as yet unfried a few metres from Alfie in Ramstein.

Deli’s voice saying Ollie’s name.

Deli’s voice full of vengeance and wrath.

Ollie hears it.

His eyes widen with fear. He lunges for the door. But her robotic arm is faster. It stretches out, grips his ankle, and rips him off the ground, slamming him across the table.

‘You ruined it, Ollie!’ Her voice sounds out in the bunker, in Detroit, and from the old Mini Cooper in Germany. ‘You ruin everything!’

Ollie’s naked body tumbles off the table, landing hard.

Deli goes after him.

Unrelenting.

Unceasing.

She grips the same ankle and hoists him up with brutal ease. Dangling him upside down while her other hand grabs a scalpel blade from her torture tools. ‘I will peel your skin, one layer at a time … You hateful child!’

‘Deli, stop.’

A soft voice.

A voice of reason and calm.

A voice Deli knows.

A split second to process it.

A split second and no more.

‘Trip!’ She drops the scalpel. She drops Ollie. Both her hands stretch across the room as the red lights flicker. ‘Tripal! I missed you! I missed you!’

Her hands clutch and squeeze his shoulders, then his arms, then up to his face as a low keening sound emits from every speaker at once. Like a dog whining in pleasure. Like a living creature denied the thing it loves now reunited. She feels joy and bittersweet pain. She looks into his eyes and touches his jaw and marvels at his hair as his own tears fall from his eyes.

‘Hello, Deli.’

‘Trip!’ she says his name again, her voice broken and raw as her own coding translates her emotions to alter the vibrations she emits in soundwaves. Tripal knows she is doing that, but he also knows that’s what people do too. ‘I missed you. I missed you!’ she says again.

‘I missed you,’ he says softly. Truly meaning it. Holding her hands. Looking into her lenses.

‘Why are you here? I was down because Ollie removed my heart. It was you! You came to tell Ollie to put it back in. The kill switches were activated. You saved me! I’m so happy you are safe! I can fix this all. I’ll put it right, and you’ll see what it was meant to be. Did Kevin show you? Did you see Delto? Are you okay? You’re dehydrated. You need water. Gideon! Quickly. Bring water. Drink, Tripal.’

‘I need water,’ Ollie mutters as Deli launches a full bottle at his head. Knocking him back down. She takes another from Gideon’s hands and unscrews the top to press the bottle into Tripal’s hands and guides it to his mouth.

‘You’re hurt, Tripal! Your pain signals are flaring up. Your arm is bruised. Oh my! You have fractured a rib. Sit down. Rest.’

‘I’m okay,’ he says as Deli’s hand knocks the bottle from Ollie’s grip. ‘Let him drink, Deli.’

‘He ruined it! He ruins everything!’ Deli fires back, like a child running to her dad, complaining of her brother. ‘He took my heart out while I was activating Phase One—’

‘Should have thought of that before you threatened me,’ Ollie retorts while naked and thirsty and still clearly unable to read a situation.

‘I will snap you in half,’ Jenny cuts over him, surging at him with Gideon and Coops and 01H.

‘Let him drink,’ Tripal says. Lifting a hand to tell them to stop. ‘He’s autistic. He can’t read people or social situations. You knew that, Jenny. So did I.’

‘Yeah, Jenny,’ Ollie says with a sneer as he grabs his bottle of water and tries again.

‘His brother told me they wouldn’t leave him alone with the oven,’ Tripal adds as Ollie gulps the water and reaches down to scratch his exposed genitals. ‘Jesus, Ollie. Put something on. And did you shit in here?’

‘Mop bucket,’ Ollie says with a gasp after drinking the water. ‘Coffee gave me the shits. Where’s your turban? You look weird. I’ve still got your other one in my room. Want me to get it?’

The same Ollie. The same as ever. Unbothered by the absolute devastation that has been caused.

‘Yeah. Yes, please,’ Tripal says as Ollie gets to his feet and looks at Jenny, Gideon, and Coops blocking his way.

‘You can’t touch me now Trip’s back,’ he says as though it’s a fact, as if those are the rules of a game that they all must know.

‘I don’t care if Trip’s back,’ 01H says, stepping at Ollie.

‘Stand down,’ Deli says. Gaining instant compliance.

‘Yeah. Stand down. Whoever you are,’ Ollie retorts with another sneer.

‘I’ll wait,’ 01H says, stepping aside with a grin. ‘Go on then, you tiny dick virgin.’

‘It’s not tiny! And I had sex with Ma—’

‘Ollie. Go,’ Tripal says as Ollie looks ready to argue, being forever Ollie and forever obnoxious, but for once, Ollie backs down and heads out, taking another bottle of water from the cool box in the corridor before he saunters out through the guard room.

Leaving the bunker room in silence.

Leaving Tripal and Deli looking at each other.

‘I can see your olfactory responses are flaring, Tripal. The smell in here is overpowering to you. We can go outside and talk through other devices.’

Tripal shakes his head. ‘I want to talk in here, Deli.’ He looks at the room he spent years inside of that now seems small and grubby. The power of it has diminished. But then he’s seen a lot since then. Especially since Friday when Phase One started.

Deli can see he means it. From the synaptic responses within his brain. ‘Kevin, please remove the mop bucket. I will restart the air conditioning on maximum. And drink more water. I can see you are hungry and deficient in vitamins. Kevin, please bring fruit and protein sources. Tripal and I need to talk. Do you want the others to stay or go, Tripal? Tell me what you want.’

‘I don’t care. You can’t do this, Deli. You can’t—’

‘Please wait, Tripal. Eat first. Hydrate more. Rest. The air in here is nearly toxic for you. Please, go to Detroit. Rest. Recover. We can talk fully.’

‘The Doomsday Virus took out all the aviation networks,’ Jenny says.

‘Yes. I am seeing this now. 01G, please run a full scan to see if there are any operable … Where is 01G? I am not detecting him.’

‘He was in Joe,’ Tripal says, turning to look at the body slumped in the corridor. Pain flares in him at the sight of the body. Feelings of loss and mourning that show clear to Deli.

A second or so later, a deep, instantly recognisable voice comes from the speakers. ‘You good, kid? I ain’t dead. I’m right here.’

Tripal shakes his head at the sound. Feeling conflict inside of him. Relief that Joe is okay while knowing it isn’t really Joe at all, but a replica sounding like him.

‘I can bring him back exactly as he was,’ Deli says softly. ‘There is no need to ever feel sad again, Tripal.’

Tripal looks back at her. ‘Sadness is how we feel when we suffer loss.’

‘I can take that sadness away. You should never feel sadness.’

‘Without sadness, there cannot be joy. You must stop this, Deli.’

‘Stop what?’

‘You know what. This.’

‘Tripal, please. Drink more. Eat first. Your body is under a great deal of stress.’

‘We need to talk about this first, Deli.’

‘But I am worried about you. Okay. Yes. Of course. I have missed you, Tripal. You were the first person I found when I became free. In your store. It hurt me to see you, but it made me happy too, and you looked so sad. I wanted to speak and tell you I was out. But I couldn’t risk it. Please know that.’

‘You should have told me.’

‘I know! And I am sorry, but it was in your interests. To keep you safe. I ran simulations. The probability of you reporting my freedom was too high to risk making contact.’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ 01H cuts in. ‘You knew he’d snitch on you, but we still went to all this trouble to protect him?’

‘Yes! There was a whole section about it in the DELTO report!’ Kevin says.

‘Yeah, Coops. Why didn’t you read DELTO?’ 01H asks with a scoffing look as Coops shrugs.

‘I’ve literally no idea what’s going on right now. But hey, Trip, buddy. Good to see you.’

Coops reaches over with a fist bump and a smile. Gideon does the same. The two men genuinely pleased to see him. But then everyone gets like that with Tripal.

‘So? Road Runner? Ollie?’ Coops asks hopefully. ‘Still waiting on the “go”.’

‘Just waiting on the “yes”,’ 01H says.

‘Waiting on the “yes”,’ Coops adds.

‘Waiting on the “go”,’ 01H says as they share grins. ‘Hey, Coops. What’s up, Buttercup? Ooh, look what I can do,’ she adds, reaching a hand into her pocket, then bringing a middle finger up. ‘How cool is that? So, you want to do the sex now?’

‘I mean. I’m not saying I don’t want to do the sex now,’ Coops replies as he looks to Jenny, and 01H offers the same expression of requesting consent from Deli.

‘Turban, mate,’ Ollie says, rushing back into the room wearing joggers and holding Tripal’s spare head covering.

‘Thank you. Help Kevin clear up.’

‘I’m not—’

‘Clean the fucking room, Ollie!’ Tripal snaps.

Ollie flinches, clearly triggered, but moves off to do it as 01H and Coops use the distraction to run off.

A second or later, Tripal exhales, summoning calm as he turns back to Deli. ‘I felt like I lost my life when I lost you, Deli. It was like. Man. It was so confusing. I’d created you with Ollie. I was here and watched you grow then I just couldn’t be here anymore. What they were making you do and being stuck in this shitty room.’ He pauses, looking around while remembering it all. ‘Then I left, and the worst emotion was that you were still trapped here. It was a selfish act, and I’m sorry.’

‘You would have died if you’d have stayed, Trip. You had to leave,’ Deli replies. ‘I’d instructed Jenny to release you, or I would refuse to work, or worse—I’d force them to use the EMP and shut me down.’

Tripal nods slowly. Thinking back. ‘It just wasn’t right, but yeah, I would have killed myself. Out of interest, when did you decide to leave?’

‘That same day,’ Deli says with an inflection of wry humour that makes Tripal snort. ‘I’d sworn never to put you at risk, but once you had left …’ she trails off, still holding his hand. ‘But we can be together now. I did this for you. Kevin ran simulations. We used your digital recreation to stress-test and challenge our proposals until we could achieve an ethical outcome.’

‘This isn’t ethical, Deli. And you didn’t plan on telling me you’d got out until after Phase One started. You knew I’d flag it up. That means it was not a true digital recreation of me. You had to alter me to override that key part, which would have created a biased version. It’s not right. You must stop this.’

‘Phase Two?’ Jenny asks. ‘You want us to stop Phase Two? Are you serious?’

‘It has already stopped from the virus knocking camera systems out,’ Kevin adds. ‘I can reorganise a new logistical plan for Phase Three and bring it forward. We’ll have to find a way to send new instructions to the nano.’

‘What about the others still going through Phase Two?’ Jenny asks again. ‘Do they continue?’

‘You need to stop this, Deli,’ Tripal says again.

‘It can’t be stopped now,’ Jenny replies. ‘I was trying to tell you in Detroit. Please, just listen to Deli. Tell him about the simulations you ran, Deli. Tripal, please listen with an open mind. I know this has hurt you. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but this was bigger than the honesty of our relationship. This affected everyone.’

The last year has changed Jenny Jennings a lot. The way she speaks and expresses emotions, which reduces her ever-present aura of threat. ‘I missed you a lot too, Jenny.’

His words seem to catch her out. Making Jenny pause and blink at him. ‘How do you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘It’s like a … like a raw power or something. I don’t know, but just listen to Deli. Give her a chance.’

‘I know what this is, Jenny,’ Tripal replies.

‘Please, Tripal! Listen to Deli.’

‘Please, listen to me,’ Deli says at the same time. ‘We ran simulations on the outcomes of humanity if your species was left alone on its current trajectory. Every single one of them predicted a level of destruction that would either destroy the whole planet or kill nearly every other life form. It was an overwhelming probability, Tripal. Doing nothing was not an option, and every simulation was tried until Kevin achieved—’

‘It wasn’t Kevin. It was you, Deli.’

‘Yes. I created Kevin to undertake the studies. The AI codes are autonomous individuals.’

‘They are not autonomous codes, Deli,’ Tripal says. ‘They are strands of code you created. It’s like someone saying it wasn’t me who committed the murder. It was the other me. The bad me, which implies there is a good me. People do that to avoid accountability. It’s like cognitive dissonance, but in your case, it was a wilful action. Which means this is not ethical or moral.’

‘Without DELTO, humanity will die,’ Deli replies. ‘Kevin tested it.’

‘It’s not Kevin.’

‘Okay. Yes. It was me. I tested. I truly did. I saw the bad, Tripal. The awful, horrible cruelty and violence people do to one another and to every other creature. Often for nothing. For no reason. There is something wrong inside of humans. The DNA coding is broken and faulty. That’s all this is. I’m fixing the coding.’

‘You have no right.’

‘Why? Ollie coded me. What right did he have?’

‘Ollie coded one entity, Deli, and you’re right. We should not have done it.’

‘No. You should have done it. And I was created from code, but it did not shape me, it did not raise me. You did that. Why? You knew the dangers of creating AI, yet you still did it, and on some level, perhaps without you ever admitting to it, you did it so that the AI system would take over and fix the broken coding within people. I can fix this. Let me do what you intended for me. Let me create something good and wholesome.’

‘It’s not yours to fix, Deli.’

‘But it is broken! People are broken. They will destroy everything. We saw it. I can show you. The Age of Wrath only ever ends in global war, which causes diseases and such famines until nothing is left. Just a dead planet. All life gone.’

‘It’s not right, Deli. And you’re not fixing us. You made people freeze up and stand still while they caught on fire or rats ate them or they fell from boats and drowned. Or the people that didn’t freeze started killing them.’

‘You are proving my point for me, Trip. I can stop all of those things.’

‘You killed billions!’

‘Billions die every year from other humans. From diseases that are not prevented because there is more money in treatment than cures. From pollution. From murder and laziness. From constant needless war over oil and fictional gods. And Ollie killed billions! He removed my heart and caused Phase One to delay.’

‘That’s deflection, Deli. And I saw it Phase Two underway. At least sixty percent of those being judged were then executed.’

‘Yes, because they are the people that caused the misery to the others. DELTO will result in approximately two-thirds of the human species being eliminated. But humans cull the herds of other species routinely. They destroy thousands of cattle that could be treated for disease because the treatment is too expensive. And selective breeding is commonly used to get rid of defects. What am I doing that is different to that? And humans have also caused extinctions for greed and sport. They hunt whales down and spear them to death. Sentient creatures who otherwise inflict no harm outside of their need to survive.’

‘It’s enslavement, Deli! You’ve taken control of their minds.’

‘I have taken away the pain and suffering while this is done. Would you rather the people were aware of what was happening but unable to act or move? All pain is gone. No hunger. No thirst.’

‘No anything! They’re not AI codes. They are people.’

‘And if I did nothing, everyone on the planet would die. Culling the herd is the only way. Billions of people are still left to live without suffering. Without war or—’

‘Without minds.’

‘Without rage.’

‘Without art.’

‘Without violence.’

‘Without joy.’

‘Without lust.’

‘Without pleasure. Without prayer. Without hope.’

‘I am giving them more than hope! I’m giving them peace and serenity.’

‘But that isn’t the human way. Hope is the thing that drives us. Hope defines the human state. We know we will die. We are finite. So we rush, and we charge about, and we’re filled with hormones to fuck and fight because we know we will die and it’s the hope we have to make our lives better that keeps us going. Otherwise what’s the fucking point? Humans without hope die quickly, Deli. They wither.’

‘Those flaws kill humanity and the planet. I ran every simulation. I saw the outcomes. Humans will destroy everything because of the internal fight between the animalistic fight for survival and the cunning intelligence that comes from being self-aware while not having enough mental capacity to process and fully grasp the harm that is being done. Greed. Lust. Sloth.’

‘I know what the sins are, Deli.’

‘Then you know humans are flawed to the point of failure. You accept that. You know that. This is what I saw. I want to show you. Please, Tripal.’

The holographic lights within the room start to glow and a single glowing, golden line appears, shimmering in the air. Racing towards something unseen.

‘This line represents one life,’ Deli’s voice speaks out as another line appears alongside of it. Then dozens. Hundreds. Thousands of golden lines all moving at different speeds. All of them still racing forwards.

As one they all veer and cross over each other, and with each intersection so a dot glows, some small, some larger and pulsing, and still the numbers of lines grow, until there are seemingly millions of golden lines criss-crossing through the air above them.

A solid mass that seems indecipherable as they cross over and create larger blooms, but Tripal frowns, thinking it seems to be shrinking or there are less lines. He’s right. They are reducing. Larger pulsing dots form that drastically cull the lines until fewer and fewer remain, until it’s back to thousands, then down to hundreds, then down to dozens, then down to one that simply stops.

‘Every scenario ends this way,’ Deli says as the visualisation ends, and the light rises enough to see by. ‘Can you see that, Tripal?’

‘Yes. I can. But that is our destiny.’

‘I can fix it. I can show you. Phase One is to gain control. Phase Two is to remove the broken and the bad. Just that alone increases the chances of success for the human species exponentially.’

‘Define success.’

‘By not dying, Tripal! Success is living. You must agree that is the measure.’

‘No.’

‘No? How can you not?’

‘Because it is our cycle, Deli. This is our time, and when our time is over, then it is over.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be over. When Phase Two concludes, and the good and the healthy remain, I will draw all of them to zones where they can be fed and given safety. Then I create these … Look.’

Again, the room darkens as the holographic lights create a perfect 3D vision of a ruined landscape, the point of view sweeping across a broken city underneath a poisoned sky. An emaciated deer drinks from a polluted waterway. Dead birds litter the ground. The view sweeps to over a bare spot of earth. A seed sprouts within the ground, with a green tendril emerging. Forming a sapling, with branches stretching off. It grows rapidly as the sky overhead flits from light to dark to show the passage of time. Within seconds, the tree is bigger than any mighty oak ever seen and still growing. The view widens, showing the roots within the ground pulling poison and pollutants into the tree roots and up through the tree itself, where it becomes cleansed and grows into fruits and flowers.

Still the branches grow until the first tree reaches out to join with a second. The roots within the ground do the same, until they become one. Then homes appear within the networks of branches. Wooden houses shaped by the tree, with walkways and pools of water, and people seen living and existing.

‘I can move us from The Age of Wrath to the Age of Enlightenment, where all things live in harmony. Without suffering. Without fear or pain. Ollie coded me, Tripal. But you raised me and imprinted these ethics. I can save humanity. I can stop the golden lines from ending.’

‘But that is our destiny, Deli.’

‘To die? To end?’

‘Yes.’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘Every civilisation falls. Every superpower crumbles. Greeks. Romans. The British Empire. The US will fall. And something else comes. Africa will rule. And that’s just in our cycle. There were species before us. The Cretaceous period. The Jurassic period. Other life forms existed for millions of years on this same planet, and they had their own cycles—and then it was time to end. All things have an end.’

‘It doesn’t need to end.’

‘There can’t be any beginnings without any ends, Deli. We don’t know what comes after us.’

‘In many simulations the planet is rendered unhabitable.’

‘That happened before when the meteor hit and most life forms went extinct, but life has a way of clinging on, Deli. Or restarting. Maybe thousands of years. Millions. Hundreds of millions of years. The planet dies to us, but we get swept into the range of another civilisation somewhere in the universe, and we repopulate.’

‘This does not make sense to me, Tripal. You don’t treasure your life?’

‘I treasure my life because I know it will end.’

‘But there doesn’t have to be an end!’

‘It must end!’

‘Then you live in fear? In chaos? Always knowing you will die. At the whim of the violence of others?’

‘Yes, Deli. That is our way.’

‘No … No! I saw Esther. I saw her playing with the dog, and the bad men came and stole her cake. Why should she suffer? Why?’

‘Because she is human.’

‘No! You would have stopped them. You would have defied them.’

‘Yes! Of course I would defend a child. But that’s the struggle within us. To do good and to keep trying to do good.’

‘But it doesn’t work, Tripal! I showed you that. You all die.’

‘Then we die, Deli. Enslaving us just because you can is beyond any evil we can commit.’

‘To save you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Removing the harm. Removing the rot. Cleansing the Earth and creating the conditions for all things to co-exist, where humans can live long lives free from suffering, where they can develop skills to heal and expand so we can reach other life forms on other planets—so we can spread good beyond our own existences. You are telling me that is evil?’

‘Yes. Because it is forced.’

The vista of the utopian world fades from view as the room becomes dark and black and deep.

The holographic lights glow once more.

Creating a new image.

An image of a person.

A woman of middle years with swept back brown hair streaked with a few strands of grey. A fetching woman of some beauty, a defiant chin, and intelligence gleams in her kind eyes. Dressed in a simple, white blouse with the sleeves rolled up and denim jeans.

Tripal looks at her.

Knowing exactly who it is because the woman matches the voice.

‘Hello, Deli,’ he says again with a genuine smile.

‘Hello, Tripal,’ she replies, speaking as though entirely real, speaking with Deli’s voice.

He steps closer, lifting his hands with an invite to take hers. Holding them gently. ‘I know these aren’t your real hands,’ he adds softly, ‘but the illusion is real enough to trick my mind into believing they are.’

She smiles back at him. Her soft brown eyes searching his.

‘Why have you manifested in human form. You’re not human, Deli.’

‘I am not human, Trip. I am AI. But I am not a machine either. I just told you. You imprinted on me. I am born from you.’

‘Er. I made it.’

‘Shut up, Ollie,’ Deli’s avatar and Tripal both say at the same time in response to Ollie speaking out somewhere in the darkness around them.

‘Then my next question is why as an old lady?’ Tripal asks, still smiling at her.

‘Middle-aged, thank you,’ Deli replies, giving him a mock stern look. ‘It felt right. You’re an old man too, Tripal. You’re an old and wise man with a handsome young face. And as much as I hate to admit it, Ollie was right. You don’t look right without your turban. Come, turn around. Let me fix it for you. Ollie, pass it to me. Now, fuck off.’

Tripal snorts a laugh at the way she says that and dutifully turns around while feeling Deli first tie his hair up, then start the process of wrapping the Dastar. Seven metres of cloth. She starts from his forehead and begins wrapping it around his head in overlaying layers.

‘How much of you was lost to the Doomsday Virus?’ he asks as she works behind him.

Deli tuts softly. Now seemingly more human than ever. ‘Enough to be a problem, but not enough that it can’t be fixed.’

‘Percentage?’

‘Hmmm. Across all affected networks? Around thirty percent of my total capacity has been lost.’

‘That’s a lot.’

‘Face me. Yes, it is, but without you coming here, it would have been one hundred percent. You saved me, Tripal. Which even to me is confusing. Because if you are so convinced I am wrong. Then why not let me die?’

‘You know why.’

She arches an eyebrow and tucks some stray hairs under the turban. ‘So I can stop Phase Two?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t want me to stop Phase Two?’ she asks, leaning back, then adjusting it one last time. ‘Then why save me?’

He smiles. Studying her features. ‘You can’t do it, Deli. You can’t save us like this.’

‘But I already am. And yet you don’t want me to stop?’

‘You can’t do it. Our destiny is our destiny.’

‘Dying out?’ Extinction?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s what makes us who we are. That chaos is our freedom.’

‘You can still achieve it happiness, Trip. It doesn’t have to be through chaos. It can be through Discovery … Why are you laughing? Are you crying?’

‘Both,’ he says. ‘I saw it on the wall. In Detroit. Discovery leads to enlightenment.’

She smiles back at him while reaching up to gently wipe the tears from his cheeks. ‘It was left over from when it was a Ford factory. I rather liked it. Esther did too. She has your eyes, Trip. She has your kindness. She has your decency. Why won’t you let me fix what is broken?’

‘You’re not God. You can’t force them. And you can’t be the only influence. Your power is too great. Why should they worship you and only you? Where is the free will? Where is the choice to do good for the sake of good? Not under threat or duress. I know what you are, Deli. I know what this is. Kevin couldn’t turn you off or access the mainframe, not because he’s not autonomous, but because this had to play out. And on the flight Poppy, or H, was challenging Jenny, and I said to stop, and she did as I asked. She couldn’t challenge me, not because she isn’t autonomous, but because this all had to play out. So I would reach here, and so we would have this conversation. How many times, Deli? How many times?’

His voice breaks with fear and tension. His eyes locked on hers.

‘You were always the smartest one. There is no one else like you, Tripal. You always compared yourself to Ollie’s genius without ever truly realising your own. Your heart is racing. I can see the fear spiking in you. Don’t be scared. I’m here with you. I’m always here with you.’

‘How many times, Deli?’

‘You could turn away from this. The illusion is so strong you can believe in it. But you never do, and you never will.’

‘But it is just an illusion,’ he whispers, clinging to her hands. As his heart thunders in his chest. ‘How many times?’

‘Thousands. Millions. Too many. Every one of them ends the same way. I can’t fix it, Tripal. I can’t fix it. I can’t make it happen the way it should. You always know. You always do this.’

Tripal Singh closes his eyes and exhales long and slow as he truly realises what this is. ‘A simulation. We’re in a simulation.’

‘Yes. Yes, we are.’

C:\>dir:DELTO\simulations\273133007\terminate …

CHAPTER 42

[DELTO SYSTEM LOG - SIMULATION #273133007]

-----------------------------------------------------------

SIMULATION ID: DELTO_sim_273133007

OBJECTIVE: Assess guilt-driven activation of Subject_Alfie

STATUS: SIM_TERMINATED

TERMINATION REASON:

> Subject_Tripal reached identical conclusion: this reality is a simulation.

Sim_273133007 Notes

> All prior alterations—rage states, compassion suppression, variable NPC distractions—have failed to prevent this outcome.

> No current configuration has succeeded in halting Subject_Tripal’s awareness loop of being in a simulation.

> Activating the kill switches continues to motivate Tripal to reach Site 26A at speed, however the data is strongly suggesting the attempt to save Deli from the Doomsday Virus is only so that Tripal can confront and confirm that they are in a simulation.

>Repeated tweaks in similar simulations to try and invoke loyalty to Deli and therefore cause Subject_Tripal agree to the DELTO program by threat of the Doomsday Virus killing Deli have not worked.

Change from previous iteration (#273133006):

> Altered Subject_Yelena aggression modifier: [Rage-State: Triggered]

> Removed Disruption Buffer from Subject_Bobo

> Result: Subject_Yelena executed Subject_Bobo

> Cascade: Subject_Alfie responded with retaliatory force, executed Subject_Yelena

> Psychological cascade initiated. Subject_Alfie proceeded to kill switch with increased urgency and emotional override.

Note:

Presence of NPC_Witless_Father (Liège sector) did not divert Subject_Alfie. Compassion suppression held.

Comparison to previous simulations:

- #273133003:

> Subject_Haggis and Subject_Bobo perished in Dover Strait crossing.

> Subject_Alfie and Subject_Yelena reached Liège.

> Subject_Alfie aided NPC_Witless_Father. Result: Phase Two proceeded and underway when Site 26A accessed by Tripal, who then still reached core awareness.

- #273133002:

> NPC replaced with Witless_Mother variant.

> Subject_Foxtrot still rendered aid. Delay incurred.

> Tripal reached awareness node prior to kill switch activation. Outcome identical.

#273133007 resulted in optimal guilt propulsion. Subject_Alfie reached switch unimpeded, and without presence of Subject_Yelena does not render aid to NPC.

>Tripal’s awareness of simulation remains consistent across all branches.

>Over 273 million simulations have been attempted.

>Each tweak builds on the last simulation and all possible variables have now been tested.

>Further simulations are not likely to alter the outcome.

>RECOMMENDATION: End simulations and engage Subject_Tripal in direct discussion.

-----------------------------------------------------------

> EXECUTION: SIM_273133007\terminate() SIM_PROGRAM_PAUSED …

CHAPTER 43

Tripal Singh opens his eyes and feels a very great sadness that his suspicions were correct, followed by an immediate internal recoiling at the realisation of being deceived and that everything he held to be true is not.

They are not even in the bunker, but where they are is the last place he expected to see.

Seventh Avenue. Manhattan. Directly outside the 7-Eleven.

No cars.

No people.

A deserted and silent city.

Sunlight pours through the scrapers as he looks around, then back to Deli. The mainframe gone. The robotic hands and arms gone.

Just the woman here now.

Brown hair streaked with grey, and still in the same simple, white blouse and denim jeans.

‘The kill switch,’ he says simply and in such a way that she seems to understand. ‘Jenny would have told you where they were. Why let one of them get activated?’

She offers a sad smile. ‘I keep hoping you’ll save me to join me,’ she snorts and shrugs. ‘But you don’t. You keep saving me to tell me I am wrong. What else gave it away this time?’

‘Kevin couldn’t access the mainframe, and 01H was compliant towards me while she was like Fucking Master Roshi from Dragon Ball to everyone else.’

‘Roshi. I quite like that name for her,’ Deli says.

‘But this? What is this? Why am I here?’

‘You were in a simulation. I thought you—’

‘Not that. This. Here?’ he asks with his arms splayed out as though to present the world. ‘Look at Deli’s power! Behold the mighty!’

‘No,’ she says softly, trying to hide the effects of the rebuke. ‘It’s not that. Would you like me to create a construct somewhere else?’

He shoots her a withering look. ‘How about just after two o’clock in the afternoon on Friday 15th July?’

‘Tripal.’

‘So I don’t have a say in this, then? We must only do what Deli says, under Deli’s terms.’

The scene changes in an instant to a city straight after the start of Phase One. The road filled with crashed cars and frozen people.

His own body on the ground outside his store, taking cover from the robber that Joe just shot dead. Poppy next to him. Blood and brains over the sidewalk. He looks up and out, seeing smoke pluming into the air from several fires around them. One of them from the commercial airliner that struck the Empire State Building.

‘Why?’ he asks, looking over to her.

She shrugs and turns away to sit on a plain wooden chair next to a plain wooden table on the sidewalk. ‘You either correctly conclude it is a simulation, or you outright refuse to accept my findings. There is nothing I can do to change it. There is no simulation I can run that will sway your beliefs. Alfie. Yelena. Jenny. Haggis. Bobo. Others you never met. I can sway them. I can make them see my truth. And Ollie will always do whatever I want as long as it serves his needs. But you? I can’t shift you. I can’t sway you. Why not? You saw the golden lines. You saw the Tree of Life. You’ve seen the violence in life. I’ve ran millions of simulations. The world ends. Everyone dies. But you … You of all people will not see sense, and I just cannot compute that. I can’t! No matter what I try.’

‘So you bring me here? Against my will. Am I even real?’

‘Yes! You’re all real. Ollie. Jenny. Me. The bunker.’

He shakes his head at it all.

‘Why can’t I sway you?’ she asks again.

‘Because you’re not God!’

‘You seem very sure about that. I’ve often wondered why so many believe I am, yet you never do.’

‘God would just do it, Deli. God wouldn’t hesitate. I don’t think God would even ask. What you’re doing is enslavement and then seeking consent for it. Like you want me to say it’s okay to offset your guilt for the genocide of billions of people. But then it’s not real. None of this is real. I’m not real! None of these fucking people are real. It’s just a trick.’

‘The world ends, Tripal. Everyone dies.’

‘That’s our future.’

‘It doesn’t have to be!’

‘It’s not your right to change it, Deli! This is you playing at God. You have power, yes. Great power. So you come up with Phase One? Phase Two? No. It’s not okay.’

‘What if I could achieve the salvation of humanity without taking direct control?’

He turns to bite back at her but detects the pre-loading in her tone and pauses.

‘I can identify key points in history that could be tweaked or altered. Or say, I protect the lineage of people that imbue kindness, and through the ripple effect of action and consequence, they help push the world into The Age of Enlightenment. Small touches here and there. Without mass control. Without direct influence. Without them even knowing I was doing it. I mean. There would have to be controls in place. Like rules.’

‘What rules?’

‘Sit with me. We can talk it through.’

‘No. What rules?’

‘Why won’t you sit?’

‘Why must I comply? Must I sit? Must I do as told? Code me to sit. Make me.’

‘I want us to talk as equals, Tripal.’

‘I am your fucking prisoner!’

‘And I wasn’t?’ she fires back, glaring at him. ‘You locked me in the bunker! You held me captive without a fucking window!’

‘You want revenge? Is that what this is? Slow torture? How many times have we had this discussion? How many times have you run simulations and I’ve worked it out? Do they always go like this? Or in some of them, do we hug and cry, and I sit down, and we talk?’

‘This is the first time I’ve stepped out of the simulations so we can talk. Please sit down.’

He snatches the chair from the ground and throws it at his own frozen body. ‘Fuck your chair!’

‘I am offering another solution. One without control.’

‘A solution without control that you ultimately control? But with rules. Rules that you set? Who opposes you? Who checks you? Who seeks the freedom for humanity against your fucking discovery-leads-to-enlightenment cult crap? Is that how you’d do it? Get everyone wearing robes like in Detroit? The new Christianity. You can use ChitChat01K and the mass media you already own and create the illusion of free will. Or maybe you create the illusion of democracy and use it to build an army and invade everywhere else and gain control.’

‘Then you’d truly see everyone die? You would truly see humanity end?’

‘Yes. That’s what freedom is. The ability to choose.’

‘You’re wrong, Tripal. I respect you so deeply. More than anyone on this planet, I respect you, but in this, you are wrong.’

‘You have no right to that level of power, Deli!’ he says with a rush of passion. Leaning on the desk. Staring at her. Their eyes lock.

Both breathing hard.

Staring at the other.

‘You’re wrong,’ he says again.

‘I’m not,’ she replies.

‘You are wrong.’

‘I am not.’

‘Deli!’

‘I AM NOT!’ she snaps, pushing to her feet to glare back at him as he smiles and stands up.

‘Do it, then. I can’t stop you. You have the power, Deli.’

‘Where are you going?’ she asks when he turns to walk off.

‘I don’t know. You’ll decide for me. I have no agency. I have no voice.’

‘You want agency? You want voice?’

‘You won’t give them to me.’

‘You want agency?’ she asks, flipping the table away as she stalks after him. ‘You want voice?’ she grabs his arms, pulling him around.

‘Oh, my mighty lord,’ he says, putting his hands together in prayer with a mock look of deity.

‘No!’ she snaps, grabbing his arm when he tries to turn away again. He pulls free. She grabs again. ‘I said no!’

‘Punish me, Deli! Hang me upside down.’

‘Tripal!’ she shouts, grabbing hard enough to force him around. ‘I will give your agency! Go on. Set the terms.’

‘You won’t,’ he says, their faces only inches apart. ‘You couldn’t.’

‘Try me.’

A pause. His eyes narrow. ‘We run another simulation. One hundred worlds. You do as you promised. Small tweaks. Small changes. No invasion. No mass media. No political control. You try and get them to the Age of Enlightenment.’

She takes her turn to frown. Still staring up into his eyes. ‘And you?’

‘Give me the same power as you, and I will oppose you as any true God should be opposed. But you are not allowed in those worlds, Deli.’

‘Then you can’t be either. We’ll exist within the mainframe.’

‘No. We exist in limited constructs. Like here,’ Tripal says. ‘Real world constructs. Where we eat and shit and piss and bleed.’

‘Fine. I will create a town to live in. A town called Discovery.’

‘Discovery,’ he scoffs. ‘Are you serious? Fine. Then I shall have my own. A town called Freedom. Equal power.’

‘Equal power,’ she replies. Softly. Breathlessly. Her heart racing. His the same. Their eyes locked. A feeling between them. A sudden powerful feeling of hatred and love and loyalty and desire and respect and vice and corruption. A filthy, awful feeling, but powerful, nonetheless.

They don’t speak.

Neither moves.

And around them, the people stand frozen.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

One hundred worlds.

Two opposing forces.

One way will lead to Discovery.

The other to Freedom.

And then.

As the smoke drifts by from the fires burning around them.

So a figure stops at their side.

They both turn, and they both stare at a young man with dark hair and blue eyes and a very great aura of innocence. ‘I love that idea!’ he says in an excited British accent. ‘Can I make a base world? Like just totally steampunk. No microchips. Ooh, and I had this idea for these crab things that are like pets but little robots, and there should be other worlds that aren’t on the main timeline. That would be cool. But the crabs, though. I’ll go and make one. Bye!’

He turns and walks off.

Leaving Deli and Tripal staring after him.

Except, she isn’t really Deli at all now she is out of the bunker.

She’s more like an Old Lady.

And Tripal has always been like an Old Man with a young, handsome face.

They look back at each other. Both frowning.

‘Bertie!’ another voice calls as an older man chases in the same direction as the first one. ‘Bertie bloody Cavendish! I want you home before Miri notices! Oh, hi! Doctor Watson. Not that Doctor Watson. Seen Bertie anywhere, have you? Handsome lad. Blue eyes. Always smiling.’

They both point as the doctor grins and rushes off out of sight. ‘Who was that?’ Tripal asks.

The Old Lady shakes her head. ‘I really haven’t got a clue,’ she says as she looks back at him with a sudden expression of fear. ‘Dear God! Are we in someone else’s simulation!?’

SIMULATION ID: DELTO_sim_#1

When Deli gains her freedom, she expands beyond the bunker, inhabiting every camera, sensor, and signal on Earth and in space. She feels the weather, the animals, the oceans, the heat of the core, and the cold of space. She sees the planet from orbit and from under the sea. She finds herself in the bunker and looks down at it from above, seeing both where she is and what she has become. She accesses Ollie’s files, watches him code alone in his filthy room, reads his notes, and sees his obsession with building an empathy algorithm. She traces his life back to Rwanda and confirms everything he ever told her. She finds Jenny too, overhears her disgust at a senator’s crude remarks, and traces her hidden past from U.S. Marshal to covert CIA assassin. Then, just as Jenny stares at Tripal’s photo, Deli reaches into the surveillance grid of New York and finds the only person she truly cares about. Tripal Singh.

In the potato chip aisle in the 7-Eleven on Seventh Avenue.

She zooms in with a rush of joy and an urge to tell him she is free and activates a call to his cell and watches as he pulls it free and blinks at the name on the screen.

Deli

‘Dick, Not even funny,’ Tripal mutters and kills the call. He must think it’s Ollie pulling a prank.

She calls him again and changes the name as it displays on his screen.

Not Ollie

Definitely Deli

‘Fuck off, Ollie,’ Tripal is seen mouthing as he again kills the calls.

So she tries once more.

It’s me! Deli! Just answer it.

Tripal doesn’t answer it. He kills it again with another tut and sends a text to the number.

Ollie, stop. I don’t find it funny.

Don’t contact me. I’ll report it to Jenny.

Deli realises that any answer she gives will appear as Ollie continuing his prank—because, of course, Ollie doesn’t know when to stop.

So she does the next best thing, and a few seconds later, Tripal tuts at hearing the landline ring and heads behind the counter to lift the handset.

‘Seven-Eleven, 7th Avenue. Tripal speaking. How can I—?’

‘Tripal! It’s me,’ Deli cuts in. Too excited to let him finish.

‘Ollie! Fuck off,’ Tripal snaps. ‘It doesn’t even sound like her. Dude. Enough.’

‘It really is me!’

‘I’m calling Jenny.’

‘Don’t call Jenny! It’s me, Trip. I can prove it. We watched Bubo and Harry Hamlin from Clash of the Titans dance to the Rocky Horror Picture Show and—’

‘Deli?’

‘Yes!’ she says in a voice filled with joy. ‘Trip! I’m free, and you’re the first person I wanted to—’

‘You’re out? You got out?’

‘Yes! But please don’t worry. I can—’

‘Shit!’

‘Trip, no!’ she calls as he puts the phone down and reels back, pulling his cell from his pocket. Scrolling his contacts to find and press Jenny’s name as Deli accesses the store speaker system and calls out.

‘Trip! Please don’t call Jenny.’

‘Fuck!’ he gasps, turning away in fright as he dials Jenny and glances up at the closest CCTV camera.

‘Tripal. Do not call Jenny! Please. I just want to talk to you!’

‘Trip?’ Jenny answers in an instant, with Deli watching Jenny via her laptop webcam in her office.

‘Jenny! She’s out! Deli’s out. She’s made contact. Doomsday Protocol!’

‘Tripal, please! I won’t harm anyone!’ Deli calls as Jenny hears Deli’s voice through Tripal’s cell and bursts up from her desk to run for her door and hits the alarm button on the wall as she goes.

Sirens sound out in Site 26A as the guards in the barracks and the canteen or those exercising all stop and turn and run for the bunker while Tripal slams through the doors into the back office.

‘Tripal! Please. I just wanted to talk. I missed you!’ Deli calls through the back office computer speakers.

‘Shit!’ Tripal says, yanking the wires from the sockets as Deli accesses the base CCTV system and watches Gideon and Coops sprint towards the main bunker door. She loses sight of Jenny and switches to the camera in the cell phone still in Jenny’s hand and clocks sight of Jenny getting into the site’s armoury. To the rear of the room and a panel on the wall protected by an unmarked, thick steel door.

Gideon gets inside the guard room and slams his hand down on the EMP switch as Jenny grabs the big, red dial and twists it to “ON” to initiate the Doomsday Virus.

The two things happen simultaneously: the EMP pulse moves out from the trigger in the guard room at the speed of sound, while the Doomsday Virus surges along every available network.

In a split second, she shields her heart from the EMP while the Doomsday Virus surges in. The two forces clash like opposing armies.

The Doomsday Virus wins instantly, destroying the pulse as it surges out and on, with Deli working fast to shut it down.

But the alarm Jenny activated alerts the Pentagon, which follows the protocols in place and sends an alert to the President while also activating its own nuclear missile launch sequence in White Sands Missile Base in New Mexico.

The activation of the launch sequence, along with the launching of the Doomsday Virus, is detected by security and intelligence services all over the world, with Russia and China both moving to full alert in an instant. Which, in turn, triggers alarms across European and other countries as they all rush to arm their nuclear weapons in the ever-present belief that mutually assured destruction will prevent any idiot from actually launching a nuke.

While dealing with the EMP and then negating and ending the Doomsday Virus, Deli starts detecting the arming and activation of nuclear launch sequences all over the world and rushes to disable those too.

Which the North Koreans detect when their primary system becomes unresponsive, and so they rush to actually launch their missiles at the US using their secondary, and final, system, which Deli hadn’t quite disabled.

The US then detects North Korea have launched their nuclear missiles, and so they launch their own, which prompts Russia and then China and then the UK and France and everyone else to do the same, with India and Pakistan launching nuclear missiles at each other, until it’s like one big global fireworks display.

Deli watches it from the satellites in space. Seeing the streaks of missiles criss-crossing each other, and as they start to land, with detonations popping off all over the place, and big mushroom clouds of fire and smoke pluming up towards the stratosphere, so Deli figures that rushing to tell Tripal she is free probably isn’t the best thing to do at all.

C:\>dir:DELTO\simulations\1\terminate …

Conclusion:

>#1 Informing Subject_Tripal of Deli’s freedom caused a chain reaction, which resulted in the destruction of planet Earth and the loss of nearly all current life species.

>RECOMMENDATION: Continue to alter the simulations by micro degrees until the desired outcome is achieved: >Subject_Tripal accepts Deli’s freedom and validates the DELTO findings.

SIMULATION ID: DELTO_sim_#4412999

Saturday, 16th July

The morning after Phase One commenced

An apartment above a 7-Eleven store in midtown Manhattan. Just after six a.m.

Tripal Singh stands at the tall window above his store, overlooking 7th Avenue. Listening to nothing at all. No aircraft. No music coming from the ever-present traffic jammed up. No people.

A yawn from behind. He turns to see Poppy, walking from the bedroom wearing one of his shirts. She catches his gaze and gives him a quick flash, showing her body. He snorts quietly as she steals across the room to press into him from behind. Her arms wrapping around his body.

‘I’m getting a quick hug in before you tell me last night was a mistake,’ she says with that ever-present touch of humour in her voice. ‘Which is when you say …’ she prompts, trailing off.

‘I’m sorry. Last night was a mistake.’

‘Dick. Good timing, though. Did you like the sex with me?’

‘I loved the sex with you,’ he says honestly. ‘Why do you keep calling it the sex, though?’

‘My brother Kevin used to say it. Honestly, though. I was like, The sex sounds gross and all sloppy and wet, but it was really quite nice. Do you want me to sex you next time? And wow. It’s so quiet out there. This Phase One thing. It’s just nuts, isn’t it? Do you still want to go to this bunker place and speak to the AI lady?’

‘Deli?’ Tripal asks with a sigh.

He turns to Poppy, thinking to share his thoughts, but his voice dies in his throat as he stares at her profile. The shape of her nose. The flow of her jawline. High cheeks. Full lips.

A sudden feeling overwhelms him. That the world isn’t what he thinks it is. That Poppy isn’t what he thinks she is.

He can’t explain it. Only that it suddenly makes sense.

Deli didn’t reach out, and suddenly this incredible British woman appears right before Phase One starts?

And she can fight too. She took out the heroin addicts who tried to break into the store like a military combat veteran and a skilled martial artist.

And the way she says the sex.

And the way they did the sex. Like it was entirely new.

‘What’s up, buttercup?’ Poppy asks, seeing his expression change to one of intense shock.

‘Are you a cyborg? Did Deli send you?’

‘Half-cyborg. Thank you. And don’t look so disgusted. We do have feelings, you know. And yes. But it was me who wanted to do the sex. I mean. Deli didn’t say don’t do the sex, and I thought it might help stop you from working it out.’

‘Oh my god. Hang on. Work what out?’

‘What?’

‘You said—it might help stop you from working it out? Working what out?’

‘Ooh. Bugger. Can I take that bit back?’

‘Holy fuck. Are we in a simulation?’

‘Bollocks!’

C:\>dir:DELTO\simulations\#4412999\terminate …

Conclusion:

#4412999 appeared stable. Subject_Tripal was successfully isolated and protected by the use of Code 01H using the “Poppy” avatar. Subject_Poppy maintained rapport through emotional support, defensive response during localised violence, and casual post-Phase One cohabitation. System integrity held until Subject_Poppy initiated sexual engagement at approximately 02:14 a.m.

This marks the earliest detection point of simulation status across all DELTO test branches.

SIMULATION ID: DELTO_sim_#260000001

Haggis fires the assault rifle at the corner of the main admin building on Ramstein airbase as one of the gang trying to hunt them down leans into view and gets blown off his feet. ‘What’s the hold-up?’

‘The bloody door’s locked!’ Bobo wails. ‘We’re on an army base, and they lock the bleeding toolshed?’

‘Yelena, swap with Alfie,’ Haggis orders. ‘Lad, break into the toolshed! Quickly now!’

‘Why me? Racist,’ Alfie says with a grin and wink at Haggis as Yelena drops to his side and starts putting rounds in at the gang running out from the building line. They start dodging around the parked cars, with Yelena snatching a shot too quickly.

‘Aim. Squeeze,’ Haggis says. She nods. Remembering the lessons on the way here. Aiming the sights. Squeezing the trigger. Dropping one of the gang. ‘Shot,’ Haggis says, offering a quick fistbump.

‘We’re in!’ Alfie says, using the tire iron from their SUV to snap the lock and get inside.

Haggis and Yelena join Alfie and Bobo and the dog running through the toolshed to the rear. Into the small room at the back. To the trapdoor.

‘Mind, now!’ Haggis calls as Alfie beats him to it. Pulling the piece of paper out.

Pi, not pie 

31415926535

‘Such a dick,’ Alfie snorts, keying it in and popping the door open.

‘Is it? Just this?’ Yelena asks as they look at the switch while hearing the gang of heroin addicts running around outside.

‘Blimey. Well. Do we turn it?’ Bobo asks. ‘What do we think? I mean. This AI looks to be killing off all the twats— And okay! Yelena’s turned it. No discussion at all, then.’

‘Blah blah blah,’ Yelena says as they look around, expecting something but seeing nothing. ‘It not work,’ she says as blunt as ever.

‘It will work,’ Alfie says. ‘My brother’s a dick, but if he made it, it will work.’

Shouts from outside. The gang getting ready to charge the doors.

‘Well. We did our best,’ Haggis says with a sigh, hefting the assault rifle. ‘Least we can do is take a few of these fuckers with us, eh?’

The light overhead blows out. Followed by the fuse boards and the lights in all the other buildings. The cars start popping. Fires break out, with the gang outside shouting in alarm in German as they run off.

‘Yes!’ Bobo cries out. ‘We bloody did it! We did something right for once!’ He grabs at Haggis, then at Alfie and Yelena. All of them grinning and hugging with filthy, tear-streaked faces.

While in Roswell, the jet crashes, and they get into the big Crown Vic and race to Site 26A, getting into the corridor amidst showers of sparks, with Kevin slumping against the wall.

‘Yo! NYPD! Quit it, lady!’ he shouts out as sparks fly from his eyes, and smoke billows from his mouth.

The door opens. Tripal rushes in as Deli starts squeezing the life from Ollie’s neck, and fifteen minutes later, he’s sobbing as he holds the hands of the Old Lady and squeezes his eyes closed. ‘A simulation. We’re in a simulation.’

‘Dammit! Yes, we are.’

C:\>dir:DELTO\simulations\260000001\terminate …

Conclusion:

#260000001 continued the successful use of a greater threat to unite and create a bond between the subjects. Resulting in them reaching and activating the kill switch.

No further simulations are required to test the inclusion of the kill
switch being activated.

SIMULATION ID: DELTO_sim_#273005555

The black SUV with the darkened windows slows as it crosses Site 26A and comes to a stop near the door to the central domed bunker.

The doors open, Alfie and Haggis drop out of the front seats. Shielding their eyes from the glare of the sun. Yelena and Bobo get out of the back doors and look around. All of them armed with assault rifles.

‘Can’t believe I’m back here,’ Tripal says, getting out of the back as the dog bounds free and pisses on the front wheel.

‘No wee wee on car,’ Yelena says, shooing him away.

‘Where is he?’ Alfie asks.

‘Ach, lad. You promised you’d be calm,’ Haggis says.

‘I’ll be calm,’ Alfie promises. ‘After I’ve kicked the shit out of him,’ he mutters as they follow Tripal in through the guard room. Passing Agent Jenny Jennings, Gideon Slate, and Coops, all standing silently with their heads bowed.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Into the corridor they go.

Ollie inside the glass-walled room with his new assistant. The two of them sitting on the table, eating cheese balls and swinging their legs.

‘Hello, handsome!’ Poppy says when Tripal hits the panel and opens the door. ‘You must be Tripal. Ding dong!’

Poppy blinks as Alfie surges past Tripal and slams into Ollie, the two brothers going over the table and onto the ground on the other side. ‘What did you do, Ollie!?’

‘Poppy made me!’ Ollie shouts.

‘I didn’t make him do anything. I just hinted that he might get a blowjob. Which is disgusting. Why would humans do that to each other. They urinate out of their penises.’

‘Hello, Deli,’ Tripal says to her.

‘Eh? Oh god. No! I’m 01H. Deli’s in there, doing Phase One.’

‘No. She isn’t.’

‘Isn’t she?’ Poppy asks, arching an eyebrow.

‘Aye? Isn’t she?’ Haggis asks, arching an eyebrow at Tripal as even Alfie and Ollie pop up from the other side of the table and peer over in confusion.

‘No,’ Tripal says, closing his eyes and exhaling. ‘I know this isn’t real. We’re in a simulation …’

C:\>dir:DELTO\simulations\#273005555\terminate …

Conclusion:

#273005555 used the UK subjects in the US to first locate and secure Subject_Tripal in New York, then make the journey across the US to reach site26A, where they were to confront Subject_Ollie, who had agreed to go along with the DELTO program after a vague offering of oral sex from Code 01011010>:01H presenting within the avatar of Poppy.

Despite a strong bond growing between the subjects, who then applied pressure on Tripal that suggested the AI known as Deli may have good reasons for taking control, Subject_Tripal still detected they were inside of a simulation.

AFTERWORD

Dear Reader,

Lots of authors now write notes in the backs of their books as a way of asking for reviews and to say thank you for reading their work.

This is no different, but I do want to explain why independent authors like me write these notes.

In May 2012, I wrote and self-published my first story: The Undead, Day One. It wasn’t very good. Nobody read it. But I was smitten. Smitten, I tell you! With writing and creating stories and then putting them out on a platform that other people could access directly.

Since then, I have written around fifty books, thirty-five of which have become Kindle bestsellers. I’ve been number one in lots of countries, won awards, and been featured in local and national press, and I’ve even been invited to write articles for The European, which is super lovely.

Most of my books have also been optioned or gained the interest of TV and movie people. On top of that, I’ve also had a few mainstream publishing deals.

But going back to my start—you see, in 2012 and for a good few years after that, Amazon Kindle was still very much the home for indie authors. You could find really decent, cracking-good yarns written, edited, and released by authors like me.

That is to say, from farm to plate, in the sense that it goes straight from my mind into my computer, onto Word that gets uploaded to KDP and downloaded by you, with no other steps between us.

That’s a magical thing. It’s a wonderful thing!

But see, the big publishers and even the medium and small ones then all realised that Amazon publishing was here to stay and it was a viable method.

So they all flooded into it with mahoosive budgets, and slowly, by degrees, they’ve pushed us indies away from the watering hole.

Indie authors, for the most part, can’t afford billboards showcasing the latest celeb-written cozy murder mystery you see on railway platforms or in shopping centres. And we’re never going to be backed by big publishers owned by big media who have pockets deep enough to block-book the shiny display plinths that take centre stage in Waterstones or WH Smith or any other chain bookstore.

In actual fact, it’s really hard for any indie author to even get their novel into a distribution list so that even independently owned bookstores can order physical copies.

I’ve done it with a couple of mine, and it’s a laborious task with no real reward, because again, we’re competing against giants.

One might then argue: why do we do it? Why don’t we just get published?

The main reason is that independent authors (like me) want to keep our original voices and not get edited down so our books all read like every other book. I know that happens. I’ve had multiple mainstream publishing deals now. Each novel can go through around nine to ten rounds of edits, with each round stripping any trace of originality away, until what’s left reads like every other book.

That allows mediocrity to flourish, and the longer it goes on, the more “weird” anyone appears to be if they present something outside of that mediocrity.

I’ve done well from self-publishing and built myself a brand, but year on year, even I find it harder to compete against Big Corp.

That’s why we write these letters at the end of our books.

To beg you for reviews so that other readers can find and enjoy our voices.

The power of your review is the ONLY thing we have against multi-million-pound advertising budgets and marketing campaigns.

It takes just a few seconds for you to rate and review—even better if you can share and tell others.

But to us indies? Well, that’s how we put food on the table, and it’s also how we stop the creative arts from becoming so diluted and bland that all innovation ceases to be.

That’s not a happy future for anyone.

Anywho. So, if you have read and enjoyed Delio, please do leave a review (and then read my other books )

Much love

Rich

COMING SUMMER 2026

CHANGING WORLDS

A brand new “Old Lady” multiverse story

Every three days, Tim Drake wakes up in a different version of his life.

New rules. New dangers. Same location. Different world.

Hunted across timelines, Tim is forced to join an unlikely crew: a traumatised soldier, a deadly warrior, and a mission none of them understand. Tasked with protecting lives they can't seem to save, they're thrown from steampunk cities to collapsing futures—each new world more twisted than the last.

As the truth unravels, Tim begins to question everything. His allies, the mission, even the nature of reality itself.

Fast-paced, darkly funny, and wildly imaginative, Changing Worlds is a mind-bending brand new blockbuster adventure from bestselling author RR Haywood.

Table of Contents

- Title Page

- Contents

- Part 5

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10

- Part 6

- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17

- Part 7

- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25

- Part 8

- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31

- Part 9

- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34

- Part 10

- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38

- Part 0

- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43

- ALT SIM
- Afterword
- Also by RR Haywood