"Will anyone tell me how Agent Summers is doing!?" Two chemsuits walk by. Passerby. Karissa and Crane are documentaries. Zoo animals. Cubist in cubicles.
One person stops. "All of this is for the greatest good. Please, remain calm, or we'll restrain you to protect our facility."
Two more stop at Crane's cell. One chimes, they all look identical. "Careful, they possess no tech. All human."
It leers at Crane. "Listen to what she said, final warning. For the greatest good." Behind her the other two echo 'greatest good' and they start laughing.
"Those are Fambots. All machine," Karissa mumbles, waking up.
"Dark joke." Crane comes towards where the cells meet. Pinholes. A single round into utter silence. "You know a lot about the tech." Eyes peer. "Perusing options?"
"Mom is into analytics." As Karissa sits up on her see-through bunk, moving the clear plastic blankets, her hand finds the knot on her head. Lightly bleeding. "She makes a career out of it, you start to get the idea on who's who at the dinner parties."
A nurse springs in, the cube shrinking. "We want to avoid discomfort." In seconds the wound is gone. She takes a taser and shocks Karissa. The mini-nanites die from the zap.
"Ouch, a warning would have been nice," Karissa mutters.
"That will be enough of that." The nurse looks through her eyebrows. "Are we clear?"
"… Yes," Karissa whispers.
"Thank you for your cooperation." The nurse leaves on one wheel.
"Analytics, huh? What does that detail?"
"Action and reaction. Everything you do has an impact on the population." Karissa's fingertips weave through her hair searching for the missing gash, stopping with a long exhale. "She documents that said impact."
Crane shifts. "I've been kickin' ass and takin' names. Finally, get my hands on the handle. Turn it up a notch." He leans his back against the wall and slides down. "What happens here?"
"What you think." A water drop streams down Karissa's face. "Exactly, what you think.
Crane pushes a cigarette through the pinholes. A match and the striker rolled up. "Need a smoke?"
"Not old enough, only thirty-two." She chuckles, picking it up. "What's another ticket?"
"Agent Crane, with the Local Government, shield number 7792, please report to debriefing and verdict." Despite the clear walls, the Fambot seems to appear from nowhere. Then, another appears at Karissa's door. "Karissa Iowa, singer and songwriter, please report to witness testimony and verdict."
"Talk about wrong place at the wrong time." They smile.
"Please follow only the aqua-hue-line," the Fambot behind Crane edicts.
Crane looks down to see thirteen shades of blue, no other colors. "You're kidding, right?"
Both of the Fambot guards laugh. "Humans." At the same time. One gets in the front and starts leading.
Through a door the four pour into a courtroom. Small room. Monitors line the audience. "Please, have a seat." Karissa is led into the witness booth. Crane to a stand. Seats are equipped with helmets and straps. Could easily be mistaken for an electric chair or lobotomy surgery.
Before they sit a man enters. A suit. The worst kind. Business. "All bots shut down." They are clipping a cigar, blonde hair slicked back. Large muscle mass. Military. "Almost infected my whole Basecamp. Damn machines. You all are under strict quarantine. You will be held in orbit in a space station. Leave the science fiction bullshit off planet." He stops ten feet away. Lasers project from the shadows behind him.
They are covered in dots. Instinct takes hold. Arms raise. "A space station, for two people?" Crane hisses.
"More like seventeen and a severed arm." The Official strikes a zippo, lighting the cigar.
"You have the arm!? I'm not going anywhere with that thing!?" Karissa backs into the farthest corner.
"Well, it isn't up to you. I suggest you sit down." As he says that the room rumbles. The Official starts laughing. "Good luck up there." He walks towards the door and a new voice comes over speakers. Infamous voice.
"Countdown to launch sequence."
Karissa sprints to the witness booth and leaps into the chair, strapping in. It suspends her. A tube snaps around her body and freezes.
"10… 9… 8…" over the intercom.
Crane runs to his seat. Straps bind him as it overflows with liquid. Bubbles pour out of his mouth as it all freezes at a finger snap.
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