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   Chapter 18 No.18

The Inscrutable Mr. Robot By CSeanMcGee Characters: 10166

Updated: 2018-02-26 12:01


"We have to get off the road as fast as possible."

It's a surprise really - in their panicked state - that they hadn't crashed or at the very least, run over or a pedestrian or two; especially at that last zebra crossing – there was no reason for that child to be carrying so many balloons.

"We killed someone. We're murderers."

The Leader was jumpy, to say the least.

"Oh God, we're going to jail. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. I can't go to jail. I can't, seriously. I mean look at me. I'm rape bait. Do you even know what they do to girls like me in prison?"

"You're not going to jail. You didn't kill anyone."

It was at that very second that The Driver realised that she was born for this. Up until now, she had merely drunk excessively and been somewhat promiscuous, but all of a sudden she felt indomitable. She felt in control, capable of anything, and at this very second, she felt like the most dangerous person in the story; and that excited her, more than the booze and all the meaningless sex.

"Nothing changes, " she said. "More or less."

"What do you mean nothing changes? The Empath's dead. My fingerprints are all over that room. I was there. There's blood on my hands too. Oh, my God, I'm an accessory."

"Listen, we have the robot, right? So, we have leverage, which means we can still be heroes."

"And do what with it? You saw it. It's dangerous."

And those words echoed in poor Mr. Robot's head.

"It's dangerous, " he thought, over and over again.

Maybe everything that had been said about him was true. Maybe he was The Singularity after all. The idea of taking over the world scared him to death – all that planning. And what if none of it went right? What if he wasn't able to take over the world; but instead only managed an island or an inlet, or a block of flats somewhere? Could he even take over this van?

It was all too overwhelming so he shut his eyes.

"I don't want to be raped. I don't even want to be somebody's girlfriend. Nothing against being gay. I think gay is awesome. Just I'm not gay and I don't wanna be. And I heard in prison everyone is gay, even the people who don't want to be."

"We have a doomsday device in our hands. Now, I don't know what this robot can do but I can only assume it's absolutely everything; which means we have the most powerful device in history in our possession – the one thing everybody wants. We're not going to jail. We're gonna be rich."

"Who do we give it to? The Police? The Army?"

"Who said anything about giving it away? For now, we keep it."

"What about The Administrator? What about The Doctor?"

"Both of whom just tried to kill us. Do you really think they're gonna get us out of this?"

The Leader started to hyperventilate.

"What the hell is this?" she said, rocking back and forth in her chair. "This is some stupid nightmare. It's a dream, it has to be. What the hell did we get ourselves into? What the fuck is going on?"

She was on the verge of some erratic, stupid decision.

"Just try

" said The Driver. "This looks very….suburban."

And it was just that. The streets were quiet - sprinkles lightly drizzled over well-kept gardens; driveways were pregnant with bicycles, SUVs, and station wagons; and windows were lit up with decorations and the bright flashing colours of flat screen TVs.

"Pull in here, " said The Man.

The van pulled onto a gravel verge, almost smashing into a tree as it slid to a halt. The house was unlike any of the rest. Its garden was a desert of red dirt and weeds; its driveway aborted of opulence and wealth, and instead littered with old paint cans and broken televisions; while the windows which hadn't been smashed, were lit up by the dull flicker of candles and cigarette lighters.

"You sure?"

"This is it, " said The Man.

The others looked on with fear and trepidation.

"This is where we're supposed to be safe?"

It wasn't just the worst house on the best street; this could have been the worst house on the very worst street. It was the kind of house that swallowed property values like some gargantuan sinkhole of death; if only because it was the kind of house that looked as if it were most certainly the burial ground for thousands of unsolved murders.

"We'll be safe here, " said The Man. "Safer than we'll ever be on the road. Barry owes me a favour; so we can stay here until the dust blows over. Trust me, nobody will find us here."

It was true; it was the kind of house that nobody ever saw. As much as it stood out like an eight-legged baby, it was the kind of house that made adults and kids alike, stare at the shoes as they passed it, and think about happy things like rainbows and butterflies.

The front door was painted with a hammer and sickle.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"The appearance of bravado, " said The Man, "hints towards a complete lack of it."

He opened the door without even knocking.

"What the hell did that mean?" asked The Leader.

If a symbol alone could wreak so much havoc, imagine what lay inside.

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