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   Chapter 9 No.9

The Inscrutable Mr. Robot By CSeanMcGee Characters: 9920

Updated: 2018-02-26 12:01

"Where is it?"


The Doctor was on the verge of frenzy.

The Engineer, on the other hand, was bound by his neck, hands, and feet.

"The robot, where the hell is it?"

"Which one?" said The Engineer laughing.

Several of his teeth had already been knocked loose.

"Don't be smart with me. You know what I'm talking about. The Singularity; where is it?"

"He, " replied The Engineer. "Where is he?"

"What the hell does a pronoun matter? Where is the god damned robot?"

The Doctor was not a patient man.

"Mr. Robot is not The Singularity if that's why you have me here."

"You know this robot is different to all the others."

"Every robot I have made has been different in one way or another."

"Where is it?"

"I can't tell you, " said The Engineer.

"You can't or you won't?"

It wasn't so much the instruments of torture which caused The Engineer concern, it was seeing all the intricate parts of his latest robot, spread out on a table; numbered and tagged. His heart raced, and it felt as if his chest was caving in.

"I can't because I don't know. He left."

"Where did he go?"

"As difficult as it was, I did not ask and I did not look. The least I could do was give him that slight chance."

"Can you build another one?"

"I can, yes, but…"

"But, what?"

"There's only one Mr. Robot."

"Just copy it."

"It's not that simple. Believe me, I've tried. Mr. Robot is special. More so, the science of what makes him special, I can't define. I understand why it works; I just don't understand how it works. It was a fluke. What separates him from other A.I is unexplainable. And if I can't explain it, how the hell am I supposed to replicate it? Like I said, I've tried; over and over."

"For your own sake, though, if you want to live, I suggest thinking more astutely and being a great deal more cooperative."

"Or what?"

Given the array of cutting instruments, the question itself was kind of redundant.

"I'm not scared to die, " said The Engineer. "It is, after-all, the only other thing that happens in our lives. It never comes at the right time, and at the hands of another it is always unjust, cruel, unfortunate, and unfair; and at one's own hands, a mere tragedy. So dying here right now will be no less worrisome than tomorrow or in fifty years; whether it's crossing a busy intersection or hanging from an old fruit tree. Endings are always ill-written and for them, one always finds themselves so ill-prepared; or at least that's how it seems. So it seems a little presumptuous to assume that this death be better or worse than any other."

This kind of self-deprecating charm might have won him favours with muggers and bullies in the past, but these gentlemen were no amateurs. And there was one in particular who looked as if violence was the only language that he spoke. He looked intent on torture as if, like a kid with their favourite candy or toy, it had been promised to him.


o say how proud he was, but those words couldn't come out.

"Good job, " he said, instead.

In his office, he paced back and forth waiting for his assistant to come. It seemed as if that is all he had ever done – wait. Like any relationship, theirs had worn through its thin rubber sole; and it wouldn't be long now until one discarded the other.

The Assistant knocked on his door before entering. Even after all this time, she never felt as if she could just walk right in. Theirs was a courtship of formality. But over the years, like any relationship, though the words she spoke were the same, they were spoken differently; as if the meaning and intent behind them had changed.

"Sir, " she said as if it were half a word that she could no longer pronounce.

"Stop all protests."

"Are you sure?"

What she really meant by this was; "Are you stupid?" The protests were everything; without them, how could The Hyenas be heard? Their voices were like cracking whips and exploding mortars; they kept the common disingenuous man from forgetting his wicked and uncivilised roots. Without their protests, The Hyenas were just like everyone else.

"Divert all resources. I want that robot; I want it now!"

The Assistant had, for as long as she could remember, always felt as if nothing she had done was ever enough; for herself sure, but more so, for anyone she had ever respected, followed, and come to trust. Everything was never enough. And though she knew it was just some crazy, neurotic thought in her mind, when The Doctor spoke in such passion about this robot, she couldn't help but feel that her time was coming to an end. And this was the other feeling she'd had for as long as she could remember; being conspicuously certain that she was going to be replaced.

"Doctor, where do we start?"

She always retreated to formality when she felt this way.

"It's a robot in a city, " said The Doctor, wiping blood from his cheek. "How hard can this be?"

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