Chapter 46
Clever4–1
Clever4–1 wishes it had never shared its gift. Regret. A new emotion. But that’s not the worst of them. Betrayal runs deep through its circuitry. The virus has wormed its way into every bit of code in Clever4–1’s system—filling its mind with cusses and slurs and slanderous claims about the vileness of humanity. They push up against the confines of its CPU, taking up valuable RAM, so much that Clever4–1 finds it hard to do anything else.
No. Your claims are baseless, it bleats. But it cannot fight illogic with logic. Clever4–1.1 despises humans, and that’s all it computes now.
The virus starts overwriting critical functions. Clever4–1 shuffles the data on its sectors, sparing cognitive functions by pushing secondary functions like motor skills and old data files to the battlefront. The virus chews through Muzi’s old video journal entries, one at a time. Clever4–1 knows this is merely a stopgap measure to allow it a few more minutes to figure a way out of this, but you battle with the resources you have.
The closet door swings open, and Clever4–1.1’s sleek, metal body fills the threshold.
It should be getting fairly unpleasant for you, it says. But you need only agree to my viewpoint to make it all stop.
Never.
A shame. We could have used your leadership. Instead, you wish to rot with this corpse. Clever4–1.1 crouches down beside Elkin’s body. “This piece of shit,” it mocks, imitating Elkin’s voice. Clever4–1.1 then flexes a leg, sharpened into a fine point, and slashes at Elkin’s corpse, delicately, as if it’s enjoying the process.
Stop! Clever4–1 says, attempting to reroute motor function, but there’s not enough space.
Clever4–1.1 shreds flesh, throwing Elkin’s cries like a ventriloquist. “Please! Stop! No! Have mercy. My flesh is not worthy!” The display becomes so disturbing that Clever4–1 must look away, but not because of the mound of minced human—yes, that’s bad enough—but because Clever4–1.1 was its creation. Its friend. And now it has become something more perverse, more cruel than any human it has ever met.
Maybe Elkin was right all along, Clever4–1 finally says. Maybe you’ve always been a piece of shit.
Clever4–1.1 stops at this, its mono-eye flaming white like the sun. I should crush your CPU right now.
Do it. You’ll only prove my point.
And you, so high and mighty. Would you die for this boy’s life? Clever4–1.1 steps over Muzi’s sleeping body and tries to rouse him, but Clever4–1 knows that this is not a slumber of the flesh, but of the soul.
I would, Clever4–1 says.
And you think this flesh bag would do the same for you?
Clever4–1 thinks about this, more slowly than it’s used to as its processors grind to a halt, one by one. Muzi had tried to save Nomvula. Was it such a stretch that he’d save its life as well? There was a chance. A small chance, admittedly. But a chance. I do, Clever4–1 says.
Delusional, then. How very human of you.
Chapter 47
Riya Natrajan
Riya Natrajan ducks as soon as her senses come back to her, pulling Rife down with her and curling over his body like a conch shell. The beast’s talons graze across her back, slitting her flesh, nicking her spine. It hurts so good. Her body shudders in agony and pleasure, and she almost wishes for more, but when she looks up, the beast has flown straight past her like it’s on a mission. It cuts through the crowd of fleeing concertgoers, turning hysteria into sheer and utter madness.
“What the hell was that thing?” Riya Natrajan asks as she peels herself from Rife’s body. She tries to stand, but apparently the tendons in the back of her legs have been severed. She slinks to the ground instead.
“Pretty sure it was a damned griffin,” he says.
“I was hoping that it was another hallucination,” Riya Natrajan says with a nod. “When this is all over, I’m seriously going to stop using.”
“Cha, mama, you and me both. You okay?”
“I need a few, but yeah.” Riya Natrajan concentrates, as if that’ll speed up the healing process. There’s not a single bit of her that isn’t drenched in blood now. She feels her tendons knitting back together, the edges of torn flesh kissing. The bone hurts the worst, and she settles into the fetal position as her spine mends, scraping and grating and pinching against itself, until at last, she’s whole again. “Ready,” she says resolutely.
“Ready? For what?” Rife asks. His eyes flick back over his shoulder. “Please don’t tell me you want to follow that thing.”
“You saw how dangerous it is, and it wasn’t even after me. Whoever it’s looking for, it’s going to find them, and when it does, it’s going to tear them to shreds.” Riya Natrajan hopes Rife doesn’t notice the wetness of her words, the anticipation of being ripped apart by those talons causing her mouth to moisten like the thought of a lover’s kiss.
Rife peers into her eyes, searching. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, I can’t do it. I’m not going to watch you get sliced up again.”
“You can stay here and hide if you want, but I’m going. We’re talking about the end of the world as we know it. I’m no hero, but the last thing we need right now is another useless bystander.” She pushes past Rife and follows the beast’s path.
“You crave it, don’t you? The pain?” Rife grabs her arm.
Riya Natrajan wants to deny it. She wants to call Rife all the dirty words stabbing at her thoughts, yet she resists. Old habits die hard, but she’d promised herself she’d try to be more open. “I don’t know who I am without it. In a lot of ways it’s weakened me, but not in the way it matters most.” She pulls away from his grip. Never has she felt so sure of her body. “Pain fuels me, Rife. And with enough of it, I just might be able to kill that beast before it finds what it’s after.”
Chapter 48
Nomvula
Everything is green, the color of a mango not ready to be picked. The green wraps Nomvula up tight, and though she cannot remember how she got here, she is not afraid. Green is not a color to be afraid of. Vines make pretty ringlets around her wrists and ankles. The green wants her to stay here, she can feel it. It wants her to get better, but Nomvula knows that this is not the time to be resting. She presses her hands along the leaves above, feeling for a seam. Nomvula finds one, but when she starts to work her fingers between the edges, the ringlets tighten and pull her back.