Sam Morrison hadn’t heard any news about his brother for nearly six months when the call came in. John hadn’t always been the model brother or person for that matter. Often reclusive and bitter, John spent most of his time...well Sam didn’t really know where John spent his days, while he was alive that is.

            “Mr. Morrison?” The voice asked again. A local cop by the name of Arthur Piddings, had been the one to make the call. Sam still hesitated as Arthur repeated his name. “Sam Morrison?” Each time his tone growing a little more agitated.

            “Yeah,” Sam replied. “That’s me.”

            “Mr. Morrison, we found your name and contact information among your brother’s affects. We’d like for you to come down and pick them up.”

            Rubbing his forehead Sam tried to imagine what John could have left behind. Some clothes probably, his smokes, if he hadn’t inhaled all of them beforehand, maybe that lighter Sam had gotten for him several years ago. Probably not. John wasn’t the sentimental type, at least not to anyone save for her.

            At the mere thought of her Sam’s mind drifted back to her little face and the way her eyes would shine when the sunlight shone across her face. He thought of her tiny snorts whenever she thought something was really funny and he thought of her love for birds especially the ones who would group up together in the lawns in Beacon Park. Happier times.

            “His belongings can be picked up at the Ocean-view Police Department.” Sam heard Mr. Piddings say before he hung up.

            Sam clicked ‘end’ on the screen as his patcher, the first Government mandated cybernetic implant, buzzed across the back of his neck. It was meant to help millions by directly uploading health data and bio-metrics to local hospitals but now thanks to modifications it was nothing more than a glorified computer in his head.

            Sam tapped the receiver at the top of his patcher and suddenly heard a sweet voice in his head.

            “Sammy! I’m from work soon, meet me for dinner?” Michelle Morrison’s voice soothed its way into Sam’s mind and while he didn’t care for the patcher itself or its intended purpose he did enjoy this function.

            “I can’t tonight.” Sam spoke aloud even though it wasn’t required.

            “No?” His wife’s voice whined slightly.

            Sam paused and stood still for several moments only moving his eyes to catch a glimpse of the cellular device still in his hand. He was glad in that moment that his earlier conversation was done over a cellular network instead of through his patcher or Michelle could demand to see any transcripts. “Something came up. I’m going to be busy tonight.”

            Michelle sighed then fell silent.

            “I’m sorry.” He began to say but was cut short.

            “I know you haven’t felt right these past few months” Michelle interjected. “But if this is about John….”

            Two soft buzzes against his neck signaled that Sam had severed the connection. He was alone again and thankful for it. Michelle didn’t need to know about the earlier call from the police or that he was intending to pick up his brother’s belongings.

            The last time Sam had been at the Downtown Ocean View police department John had been arrested again...for trespassing. This time had been near the packaging sector in the Harbor district. John refused to speak about the arrest or what he was even doing in that part of the city but it wasn’t the first time he had been caught down there and it certainly wasn’t the last, until he disappeared completely.

            “Can I help you?” A barrel-chested man with salt and pepper hair whose badge read Barry Browning asked Sam as he approached the front desk.

            Sam didn’t answer immediately but instead turned his head to the left then to the right half expecting to see John handcuffed to a chair waiting for Sam to post bail.

            “Got another one!” A voice yelled from behind. Two bodies, one dressed in full police regalia and the other a young woman dressed in a tattered deep blue knee high dress came bursting towards the reception desk. The young woman kept her head bowed low and it was evident she couldn’t walk without assistance.

            “Down near Holgate,” the officer stated.

            Barry turned his attention away from Sam and eyed the young woman up and down. His eyes wandered over her slim frame and Sam was certain he saw Barry lick his lips. “Looks like you were hooking sweetie, good thing this officer got you off the street.”

            “Nah,” the other officer answered. “Not hooking as far as I could tell just wandering around the ’no trespass’ zone down by Holgate St. Just like the others.”

            Just like John.

            The woman in blue stumbled, fell from the officer’s grip and landed on her knees. No one moved to help her when she began to mumble, quietly at first and then without warning she bellowed, her words echoing off the walls.

            “’I’m right here momma!” She yelled. She screeched over and over again. “I’m right here momma, why can’t I see you!?”

            “Restrain her for God’s sake!” Barry yelled. “And get her to processing!”

            The woman in blue gave no resistance as a pair of hands gripped her arms and hoisted her up to her feet. Her words turned to mournful sobs as she stood. When she passed by Sam he could have sworn he heard her say “I didn’t mean to change it momma…. didn’t mean to change it….”

            “What was that?” Sam asked aloud.

            “Just another whack job.” Officer Browning said nearly under his breath. Turning towards Sam he asked. “Now what are you here for?”

            For a moment Sam couldn’t think, his head was filled with visions of the woman in the blue dress. Her words rang in his head like a broken audio file stuck on repeat.

Didn’t mean to change it momma, didn’t mean to change it.

She had been found down on Holgate St, the same place where John had been found on numerous occasions. Maybe she was just some strung out hooker coming down from a binge that lasted for God only knows how long. Sam often had similar thoughts about John and his suspected drug use.

            Officer Browning snapped his fingers in an attempt to get Sam’s attention. “You going to waste my time all day or do you need something?”

            “Morrison,” Sam said quickly. “I’m um...Sam Morrison. I’m here for my brother’s belongings.”

            “Name?”

            “John Morrison”

            Barry sent his fingers to his patcher and re-stated the name Sam had just given him. “There’s no record. Is he a prisoner or is he deceased?”

            Sam looked at Officer Browning incredulously. “What do you mean there’s no record?”

            “Look, your brother isn’t in the system. Do you have the pick-up order?”

            Sam shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I got a call earlier...”

            “Send me the transcripts of the conversation. Neural I.D. 7731 Officer Barry Browning.”

            Sam began to protest but Officer Browning cut him short.

            “Look just send me the transcripts so I can verify the conversation.”

            “I can’t.” Sam replied.

            Officer Browning just sighed rubbed his fingers against his temples. “Why not?”

             “I didn’t receive the call on my patcher. It was over a cellular network.”

            “Do you think this is some sort of joke? We don’t make calls to civilians over cellular networks. Everything is done over an official patcher channel. If you got a call from someone over a cellular network than it wasn’t from us.”

            “Arthur Piddings.” Sam blurted, “the man who called me said his name was Arthur Piddings.”

“Whack jobs, I’m surrounded by whack jobs! Look I’ve been here for nearly a decade and there’s no Arthur Piddings here and we definitely don’t have anything belonging to your brother.”

            “But,” Sam began.

            “Nothing is here belonging to your brother.” Officer Browning finished.

Sam began to protest a third time, raising a hand as if to ask a question but a cold stare from a man whose temper seemed quick and painful caused Sam to instead issue a short apology, turn and head into the cool outside air.

            “Sam?” A voice called from somewhere down a long alley situated between the police department and a shopping plaza. The voice called Sam’s name again. The voice was familiar but strange as if two pieces of steel were being rubbed together each time a sound came from the voice.

            “I know you.” Sam said into the alleyway. “The cop.”

            “A ruse, not my best.” He called back, his metallic voice echoing between the buildings. “The deception however was needed.”

            Sam peered into the alleyway, tried to see beyond the thick white-gray gas that kept everything hidden. A crowd of passerby examined Sam as he stared into what appeared to be an empty alley.

            “Stay still.” The voice called out. “Let them pass.”

            The crowd ambled on, none of them paying the voice in the alleyway any consideration.

            “What do you want from me?” Sam spoke again once the crowd wandered off down the road. “Money? Does John owe you? If you’re looking to collect on a debt you’re looking in the wrong place.”

            “There is a debt.” He replied in a matter of fact tone. “But, it’s one I’ll never be able to repay.”

            Running his hands though his hair and biting his lip Sam stood silent. A debt that he will never be able to repay. John wasn’t the kind of person to do anything for anyone let alone something that put someone in his debt. John was notorious for borrowing, renting, lifting and counterfeiting. John was a thief through and through. “What could you possibly owe my brother?”

            The man with the metallic voice, the one who lured Sam to this spot stepped out from behind his gaseous wall and into full view. He was taller than Sam by at least a foot and he wore an open vest with nothing underneath, his pants were ragged jeans with rips throughout and when Sam spied the wires running from his neck down to his chest plugged into ports where his ribs would be, when he saw the metal plates running the length of his arms and when he caught sight of the two serrated blades slowly being lowered from an opening in his palms he stumbled backwards, tripping, landing with a thud on his backside.

            “I owe him my entire existence.”

            Sam stared into the face of a Synthetic. A rogue humanoid originally created to protect high ranking government officials. The first Synthetics had turned against their masters only a few years after their creation. It was unknown as to the how or why these machines were able to gain sentience but the hunt for them had been plastered all over the news for the last several months.

            Sam’s breathing quickened as the Synthetic came closer, he tried scooting back but found he couldn’t move his legs, he tried to hit his patcher, to call Michelle, to call anyone but his arms were numb and refused to answer. He tried to scream in a vain attempt to alert the police who were headquartered within shouting distance but the fear kept his voice firmly lodged in his throat. Then he was on his stomach, his face in the pavement. The Synthetic’s weight holding him down. A quick and sharp pain shook him to his core when a blade hit his neck.

            The Synthetic made a precise circular cut along the outer edge where Sam’s patcher was installed. Several seconds felt like hours as the blade dug deeper into his tender flesh, blood began to seep down the sides of his neck pooling onto the pavement near his face. Pop! A ferocious scream erupted from Sam’s lips as his patcher, wires and all, were torn from his body.

            “You can’t be tracked now.” Were the last words Sam heard as he slipped into unconsciousness.

*                              *                              *                              *                              *

            You’re in the shit now Sammy. For Christ’s sake boy, I told you to leave well enough alone and look at you now, where are you even? You don’t even know, do you? Of course, you don’t. You don’t think Sammy, never have, apparently never will.

            “John?” Sam was certain he had heard his brother’s voice. The same condescending tone John had always used whenever Sam did something, anything without John’s approval. That is, until Sam started saving John’s ass. The receipts for all the bail money Sam had collected over the years had become staggering.

            Sam did everything he could to stand but found his knees were weak and wouldn’t support his weight so he half-fell, half-lowered himself onto a rather flat surface that sagged under his weight. A cot, like those used in the military when recruits were still green enough not to complain about not having a real bed.

            “You’re awake, good. Thought we lost ya earlier. A quite a bit of blood came out of you. Didn’t realize ya squishies bled so damned much.”

            “John, what are you.... John, what’s going on?”

            “No John-boy here, Mr. Morrison. I’m Ratchet. I fix things. Not usually people but Zero did a real number on you. S’pposed to be an expert Hunter he is. Ha! That man…. can he even be called a man? I don’t think he has typical man parts…. I sure don’t! Haha!”

            Sam tried to stand again and stumbled to his feet. Ratchet caught him and in that moment Sam realized he was in the presence of a giant. Ratchet stood nearly three heads taller than him with a chest the size of a small house. A dream, Sam tried to mumble, he must be dreaming. The cellular call, the Ocean View police, the woman in the blue dress, the man in the alley, the patcher….

            Nothing more than a hole where it used to be.

            “Easy boy,” Ratchet said as he lowered Sam back onto the cot. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

            Sam shut his eyes and tried to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Arthur Piddings…. John’s affects….no, Arthur Piddings wasn’t real, a Synthetic, the call had been a ruse and then he had been attacked and his patcher ripped from his skin. He had no way to dial out, no way to contact Michelle or the police. The Synthetics had been all over the news lately and here he was, stuck. “Are you going to kill me? Is that why you took my patcher?” Sam managed to say.

            To Sam, it looked like Ratchet was smiling. It was hard to tell. The thing was more machine than man. Aside from being the size of a small tractor, he kept a bald head where instead of hair, Ratchet had what looked like circuit board wires traced into his skin, he didn’t have ears or a nose either. Instead, his face was flat save for two deep set sockets for eyes that weren’t eyes at all but rather two blue orbs with a light that crisscrossed  where his iris would have been. Likewise, his chin held a tangle of wires that, by all appearances, was meant to look like a beard but instead of a beard the wires had the same crisscrossing blue light running from one side of his chin to the other.

            “Kill you? Ya squishies are all the same. ‘Are ya gonna kill me?’ ‘Don’t hurt me’, ‘Take my wife, leave me be!’ Bah!” He snorted. “I’m not gonna kill you, Mr. Morrison. We need you.”

            “Who’s ‘we?’”

            Ratchet had turned and shambled slowly to a dark corner of wherever it was they had kept him. Sam couldn’t see around the Synthetic but he heard his voice clearly enough. “Not for me to say, Mr. Morrison. When Minerva comes, she’ll set ya straight.”

�C2��

Next Chapter: Chapter Two