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The Demon King Cometh

Today is the day of the coronation. Prince Fredric stands beside his elderly father as he sees his older brother getting his crown. His father had recently abdicated the throne because of his old age. Fredric’s green eyes stared at the frail hands of his father, clad in elaborate robes of fine gold, silver and silk. His strong hands now trembled, as his eyes squinted to see the scene before him.

Yes, it was for the best, thought Prince Fredric at the time.

As the procession droned on, Prince Fredric breathed in a sigh of relief when he saw the priest carrying the crown. The end was almost near. The sun was slowly setting, giving the stained glass cathedral a most ethereal look. The Prince and his father were seeing the ceremony from the second floor banister. Fredric sat on a throne, not unlike the one of his father with his two other siblings. There was an empty chair beside the King. This was the place reserved for the Queen. Fredric had never met his mother, she having died at his birth.

The crown was slowly being placed over his brother’s head. Just before it lightly graced his temple, the cathedral windows shattered, raining glass over the people on the floor below.

The Prince Fredric awoke with a start from this recurrent nightmare. Regardless of how much he jogged his memory, this was the only thing he could remember about that day. He remembered somewhat the ceremony, and the moment just before the demons came. A lot of things did not make sense to him as of lately. The only thing he knew was that he was in hiding, and that his Kingdom was no more. Sitting up, he went to check on the lady sleeping beside him.

The lady was called Thora, and the claimed to be his bodyguard. He had never met the woman, and he only knew rumors about her. As a wandering knight, it was said she had slain a dragon. It was she who had escorted him from the doomed capital, or so she said. She was still recovering from the injuries she had received that day. At the moment, they were staying in a hut belonging to an pair of old farmers. They had paid for room and boarding.

Fredric eyed the bandages around Thora’s body with suspicion. They seemed a bit too clean for someone who was injured. Every morning, he was half tempted to lift one to see if there was a wound buried beneath. The first time he had tried, he had received a serious talking to. In spite of this, he was eager to check once again. His hand reached for her shoulder, but her eyes opened. To masquerade his intentions, Fredric pretended to stretch.

Sitting up, she said, “We should get going.”

“Alright,” said Fredric sternly.

Fredric stretched himself, getting out of bed. He was tall for his 14 years of age, and quite limber as well. It was tradition for all Princes to receive combat training. When he was younger, he used to shun the classes. In retrospect, it was useful that his older brother always tracked him down, whenever he seemed eager to skip any lessons.

While Thora was putting on her armor, she asked, “Do you remember anything new?”

“No,” said Fredric.

“How about just before the ceremony?” insisted Thora.

“No,” said Fredric.

Thora eyed him with suspicion, while Fredric stared at her bandages. He brushed back his raven hair, and with it all his worries. He then smelled his hand, before grimacing. It had been a week since his last bath. Their constant moving rarely afforded him a moment of respite. Thora was small in stature, a mere 5’1’’. She had syrup color skin, amber eyes, and short blonde hair. There was a certain fragility about her. Her size alone was the reason why he doubted her identity and her story. The only thing he knew for certain was that demons had overtaken the crown city.

Demons, sounds silly when you say it like that, thought Fredric. You read about them in the Bible, but you never imagine that they really exist till a horde of them starts killing people around you.

Fredric was awakened from his ruminations when he heard Thora opening the door. Mechanically, she paid the host and started to walk outside with an even pace. Fredric stumble behind her, and eventually he caught up to her quick pace. Even after four weeks, he was not used to her quick stride.

Frowning, he protested, “Wait up.”

Thora pretended not to listen to him. After his second protestation, she stopped and turned around. She shook her head sadly. Mockingly, she said, “I am surprised you cannot keep up with the pace of an injured maiden.”

“In what way are you injured, if you might indulge me?” asked Fredric.

“A couple of claws to the extremities is sufficient to drain most vital fluids. Aside from the occasional faintness, and reopening of wounds there is not much wrong with me,” explained Thora.

She shifted a little inside her leather, brigandine armor. Her choice weapon had always been a partisan, but she carried a short sword, and a lantern shield to fight in close quarters. She contrasted greatly with the dainty Fredric, with his dress sword and worn princely attire. He had been wearing the same clothing, since the coronation.  

They walked together in silence for a couple of hours. The blistering sun was frying Fredric’s head. He regretted not having the foresight to purchase the farmer’s hat. In all the farms they visited, this singular thought came into his head, but he would usually forget as soon as they were miles away from the farm. As before, Fredric asked, “Were are we going?”

“How many times must I repeat myself. We are going to a ruin to reclaim an ancient power that should help us find the demons,” said Thora shaking her head sadly.

Over the course of five months, this same scene repeated itself, over and over. From time to time, the pair would see a shadow over the horizons, and occasionally they would see a demon lurking in the crossroads. They seemed to Fredric to be looking, searching for something. Despite how hard he tried, Fredric could not seem to recover his memories.

Eventually, his party was joined by 4 other warriors who were on the same quest. On the anniversary of his brother’s coronation, Fredric and his companions finally reached the temple. It was located in a forest, with an overpopulation of bees. Aside from being a bit of a nuisance, they did not get stung. The ruined temple seemed quite familiar to Fredric for reasons he could not understand. There were the banisters, the broken chairs, even the hollowed out roof seemed familiar to him. There had been a fire, or so it seemed. Despite all the time it had passed, there was something about this place. Carved into the wall, there was the profile figure of a strange creature. Being a bit of a Catholic type of fellow, Fredric assumed that the skull faced creature was a demon. The creature’s skeletal hand protruded from the relief. On its downcast hand there was the hint that it was pointing at something.

On the floor near it, Fredric found what the creature was pointing at. It was a small halo, with a tiny star protruding in the center. There was something familiar about it. After rattling his mind a little, Fredric remembered seeing the depiction of the crown in one of the court paintings, depicting the founder of his Kingdom. Without giving it much thought, Fredric placed the crown on top of his head.

Once again, Thora asked, “Do you remember what happened the day of the coronation?”

Fredric was thoughtful, as he collected his thoughts. A thin smile painted on his lips. He then said, “Yes, now I remember.”

School Kali

Today, Kali was finally well enough to leave the hospital. Aside from a jagged scar on her head, hidden beneath a full mane of curly blonde hair, there was no visible permanent damage. She was damaged however, in more ways than she dared to realize. On her first day out of the hospital, a man and lady who called themselves her parents took Kali home. Her full name was Kalica, when she read her full name, at the time she thought it meant Death Incarnate, like the Hindu Goddess. When she entered the manor that was supposedly her home, she realized that Kalica was for Calico.

Waiting in the porch for her was a Calico cat, about 8 years in age. When Kali came to pick up the cat, it greeted her in the usual feline fashion. Kali dropped the cat, after receiving a couple of bites and scratches in her bare arm.

Her “mother” said to the cat, “Don’t you recognize Kali, you silly cat?”

The cat showed its behind in response, before entering the manor. Kali studied all the items in her home with a degree of skepticism. It was her own face staring back at her in the family portraits, but she did not recognized it. After a week of acclimating, as her father used to call it; Kali was compelled to return to her boarding school. The uniform felt to her stiff around the neck, and the waist constricted, almost as if the uniform was a bit too small for her. Kali had complained of this, the moment she had putted it on, but on such short notice, she would have to grim and bear it at least for a couple of days.

The attire was a pinafore, pleated dress the color of earth. Though to Kali, it resembled some of the things she left in the toilet from time to time. To compliment this unbecoming color, the dress was supposed to be worn over a yellow shirt. While she walked the hallway, she was greeted with whispers and grimaces. Kali found it odd that nobody from her school had bothered to check up on her. This confirmed her suspicion that in her previous life, she had been a social pariah.

She was eventually pulled to the side into an empty classroom by a handsome devil. With his livid, green eyes, he studied her face looking for a sigh of recognition. Eventually, somewhat dejected he asked, “So, you really do not know who I am?”

“You are my boyfriend,” guessed Kali. She spoke with a strong certainty. Her voice never faltered, which tended to annoy her parents, whenever they knew she was lying to them.

He kissed her, and she returned the kiss, with mechanical familiarity. She then asked, “Do you know what happened to me?”

“No. The police simply found you beaten to a pulp, left for dead,” he added, “Naturally, they came looking for me. Cause you know that ancient cliché, that whenever something bad happens to a girl, the boyfriend is to blame.”

“Yes, usually,” said Kali flatly. She added, “Though there are some notable exceptions.”

“Is that a threat?” asked her lover whose name she could not remember.

“Just a fact,” said Kali mechanically.  

After this conversation, the day slowly droned by. For some reason, the same familiar faces in school kept glaring at her. She did not know them, but they knew her. After four weeks of this turn of events, Kali was suddenly possessed by a singular thought. Those students who kept glaring at her, and where half afraid had done this to her. They were responsible for her memory loss, or so she imagined.

One day, she told her boyfriend, “I think I know who did this to me.”

“Have you finally reclaimed your memory?” asked her man whose name kept alluding her.

“Yes, dearest,” said Kali to hide this fact. For the last couple of weeks, it had been sweetie this and pumpkin pie that. She added, “I need your help to carry out my bloody revenge.”

“Let me guess, you want me to steal my father’s guns,” said her lover half joking, half serious.

“Oh! No, nothing too sordid, I am afraid. I prefer a stealth hand, as far as handling my worldly problems. Why should the innocent pay for the guilty?” asked Kali.

“I am surprised by your restraint,” said her lover.

“Is restraint a trait I do not usually exhibit?” asked Kali.

“Meh!” said her lover shrugging his shoulders.

For the next couple of weeks, the pair spent their time stalking their prey. Kali had segregated for her revenge about 11 students, 7 girl and 4 boys. The boys were the first one’s pegged. They had the most predictable movement pattern. Two were taken care of in the library, a second in the nearby woods and a fourth at a tea house in the next town over. When it came to dealing with the maidens, Kali’s lover was a bit reticent.

“I want no part, in the death of those babes, babe” said her lover.

“You are in for a penny, you are in for a pound. Also, you already helped me with one, if you do not remember,” said Kali coolly.

“Ah, yes the tea house. He was a dude, so even if he identified as a chick, it doesn’t count as far as my man code is concerned,” said Kali’s man.

“Suit yourself,” said Kali, “But if you ask me. The moment you commit violence against another fellow human being you already lose your protection status.”

“So by that logic, if a toddler stabbed you with a knife, you would peg the kid,” said her lover.

“Toddlers are not responsible for their actions, so no,” said Kali coolly.

The following morning Kali started pegging the girls. By the time they were down to three, the girls were already on the alert. It turned into a bloody shootout, one frigid afternoon in the forest. With one being the bait, the other girl had tried to snipe Kali out with her father’s hunting rifle. When she missed, she said, “I should have finished you when I had the chance Kali.”

“Why did you try to kill me?” asked Kali trying to buy time.

“You were a rotten apple, so we did what had to be done to prevent you from spoiling the bunch. I wasn’t going to let a crime lord’s daughter turn my entire class into junkies,” said the girl shooting at Kali, almost gracing her target.

It was at this point when Kali’s enemy was knocked out by her boyfriend. Smiling Kali said, “By the Gods, Shiva, thank you.”

Running to her, Shiva commented, “If I had known that wailing a couple of fools would have helped you remember me, I would have done so a lot sooner.”

“Did you get the others?” asked Kali.

“I mercy killed them,” said Shiva. Kali noted his favorite weapon, the woodcutter’s ax.

With their grim work concluded, the pair burned the bodies of their victims. As they watched them burn, Shiva placed his hand over Kali’s shoulder to draw her closer. Resting his head against hers, he asked, “Ready to get back to work?”

“Might as well,” said Kali.

The Iron Tom

The year was 2498. Despite many advances in science, the world had not changed one bit. Sure, some countries did grow, while others deflated, but the core that is humanity has not changed one bit. It was during one of those standard peacekeeping expeditions in the country of Agrippa, that Clark met with misfortune. His people were ambushed by the locals, or maybe a rival faction. It doesn’t matter for the purpose of this tale. It certainly did not matter to Clark. All he knew was that his people were being put down, one bullet a time. Bullets! Another archaic weapon of the old world. The more advanced nations had already moved onto more useful, gimmicky weapons, but the good old fashioned bullet was still the choice weapon for people who could not afford better armory. In spite of the sensors, the motion detection and all the fancy tech in their convoy, they fell for something as mundane as a common landmine.

When the executioner came to shoot Clark in the head, Clark asked, “Why are you doing this to us? Can’t you see that we are here to help you?”

The man eyed Clark with a look of disdain. He then answered in perfect English, much to Clark’s surprise. The man said, “You just don’t get it, do you?”

This was the last thing that Clark remembered before awakening in the hospital. Indeed, science had gone a long way. At least, this is what Clark thought through his muddled thoughts. Science had not saved him, but a little something called luck. Despite much advancements, gunshot wounds were still 90 percent fatal. This was due to the rarity of such an event in the first world. Not that people were no longer killing one another, but a surveillance network and the easy availability of lasers had helped in the decline of the gun’s popularity.

During the first weeks of his recovery, Clark could not remember the name of most items. He would often confuse people’s faces. This caused many frustrations for his young wife Mirta, and his fiver year old son Terry. After taking heavy doses of drugs, marinated with a bit of stem cells Clark’s brain was restored to working order. The downside was that he would have to fill in some of the gaps the old fashioned way.

Years passed, and Clark had not shown much sign of improvement. In fact, his coping mechanism seemed to be getting worse, as far as Mirta could tell. It had gotten to such a degree that Clark would stay away from home during the summer, for reasons he refused to speak about. One late July, Clark awoke to an unfamiliar sound. Rising from his bed, he went to check in the living room to see what was the matter. Scraping the immaculate white floor, and part of the carpet was a rudimentary tricycle. Terry was a bit of an odd kid, with a taste for the vintage items. While most kids his age were playing with automatons, and reality augmented games, Terry was amusing himself with toy soldiers, building blocks and soap bubbles.

Like most people who received a bit of a rude awakening, Clark said raising his voice, “What are you doing here boy? How did you get here?”

Terry simply stared at his father with a sad, dejected look on his face. His black eyes reflected back the guilt painted in Clark’s face, who was already regretting the tone of voice he had employed on someone he thought a stranger. In response to his query, Terry suppressed a small whimper.

Mirta who was in the kitchen programming the breakfast machine went to see what was the matter. Frowning she said, “By Nemi, what is the matter with you?”

“I told you! I do not, cannot see people during the summer,” insisted Clark. He added, “I am sorry, Mirta, it is just. You wouldn’t understand.”

Coming to him, Mirta said, “I can’t help you, if you do not tell me. You cannot be helped, if you do not seek help.”

“Do you take me for a fool? I know this… I am sorry. It is just. It is better if I am alone for now. Please, I do not want to hurt you or Terry,” said Clark.

“This can’t continue like this, Clark, I am…we are suffering for you as well. I am going to call my brother, to see if he can help you,” said Mirta taking out a clear slate, which was her cellphone.

Taking the phone, Clark said, “It is no use Mirta. There is nothing he can do to help me.”

“I don’t understand,” said Mirta.

Clark’s eyes imperceptibly started looking behind her wife. He would try to focus on her, and the next thing she said, but he was not able to. It was then when she understood. Shaking her head sadly, she asked, “Are you still seeing things?”

“A little, and only during the summer time,” explained Clark.

“Do the pills not help?” asked Mirta sitting down, and putting her head on her hands.

“Aside from making me feel sick. They do nothing to stop the voices, so I stopped taking them. It isn’t like I am confused or anything. Think of them as a hologram that only I can see and hear. It is only for the summer Mirta. When this summer ends, I will return home to you back to normal,” said Clark sitting beside his wife and smiling pitifully.

After this argument, Mirta and Clark resigned themselves to their new life. Despite saying this, Clark was not happy to see his wife leave him to his own devices. The people he imagined were not particularly good company. The one he saw most often was a general. He knew he was a general based on his clothing and insignia. However, Clark could not remember the person’s name or where he had met him. He would appear to Clark to serve the role of Gemini Cricket, much to his annoyance. It was through his influence that Clark had started to text to his wife during the summer. At least in writing, he could carefully consider his answers. A month passed, and there was somewhat a semblance of peace.

One day when Clark was watching the news “alone”, he saw an interesting TV add. TV in those days still came flat for those who preferred traditional modes of entertainment. However, when certain programs allowed for it, it would project a 3D hologram. Clark’s son had visited earlier, and so the TV was formatted to allow for holograms. Forgetting this, Clark who was dozing in and out saw a strange looking person protruding from the TV. He stared at it, and the person stared back at him, with a genuine, heartfelt smile.

The general looking at it said, “It is not like me, I assure you. This is something genuinely different.”

Following, the silly commercial music started playing, with a deep voice, the announcer started spewing lots of techno babble, Clark could barely follow. Such commercials were rather common in those days. A new robot AI came out each year, with each new one promising to simulate human emotions better than the last. As far as Clark could tell, all the artificial beings were as soulless as his toaster. Still, there was something different about the Iron Tom standing before him. He paused the hologram and stood up to take a better look at the robot being advertised. The light green skin seemed real enough, and the large round green eyes were juicy, almost like a real person.

Realism was not the general theme of the Iron Tom, with its space suit, and silly looking helmet. The design reminded Clark of an astronaut from those ancient science fiction novels rotting up the public library. Even now, the automaton librarians were in the progress of digitizing those public domain work. Clark always found it amusing to read over the top those science fiction books. It always amused him to see people’s paranoia with artificial intelligence. AI like 3D was a bit of a fab. Aside from serious work, AI had no popular world applications, though some RAM space was usually reserved for commercialization purposes. There was the main AI that ran then internet, and then there was the commercial AI, that gave people the illusion they were talking to a real person.   

Voicing his thoughts, the general said to Clark, “You should get one of those green thingies. I hear they are a lot of fun.”

“I don’t know,” said Clark not too convinced.

“Look, this one is not like a computer. It doesn’t come with internet or anything, or even wires. It is designed to look and feel like a real living person,” insisted the general, “When I was younger I would have done anything in the world to have a fancy looking robot friend.”

“How can you even tell me of your past if you are a figment of my imagination?” asked Clark.

“Dunno. Maybe I am referring to your past?” retorted the general.

“Not really. I remember I did have a couple of robots when I was a kid. When they would break down, my parents would get me new ones, by transferring the data. It was when I finally went to a public school did I make real friends,” said Clark.

“It isn’t the robots’ fault that you were too shallow to befriend the help. When I was a kid, my best friend did not even move, and I still carry him with me every day,” said the general opening his pocket to show a tiny little wolf action figure.

Clark stared at the action figure, while he rattled his mind trying to see if he could remember seeing such an item. In the end, Clark acquired an Iron Tom to have some else to talk to aside from the general, and the other occasional nuisances. Clark like most people in his home bought things online. After waiting for a couple of days, Clark heard a knock on the door. He had expected the American Postal Service guy, but instead he found his package unboxed, holding an instruction booklet. Clark then took the booklet from the Iron Tom’s hand and started to read the short explanation. While he read it, the Iron Tom started to survey his surroundings without going inside.

Without thinking Clark closed the door on the Iron Tom’s face. He heard a knocking, and a soothing voice that said, “Are you refusing delivery? If you want a return, you have to pay a fee.”

Opening the door again, Clark said, “My apologies. Why have you not entered inside?”

“Because you have not told me to do so,” said the Iron Tom as a matter of fact.

“You can come inside, sit down anywhere you like,” said Clark opening the door for the strange robot.

It was a lot smaller in real life. Then again, he always had an issue with converting centimeters to metric without a calculator. Sure, he did have a computer with one, but it was always such a bother to load up the App to use it. Clark was thoughtful all the while. He was brought back to the present, by the Iron Tom who said, “What do you wish to call me?”

“Ah, yes. A name. I could just call you Tom for short,” suggested Clark.

“IF you so desire, but there is already hundreds of Toms out there,” said the Iron Tom.

“What a bother,” said Clark shaking his head.

The general then said looking at the Iron Tom, “We could call you Afak.”

“Ankle First Aid Kit? That’s a terrible name,” protested Clark.

“Your friend refers to the beloved wife of a Persian Poet. The name means Horizon,” said Afak.

“I still don’t like it,” said Clark frowning. He then added surprised and alarmed, “Wait, you can see the general?”

“Yes, why shouldn’t I?” asked Afak.

Clark came to stand beside the general. Pointing at him, he said to test the Iron Tom, “Do you see him. Truly? Can you describe him to me?”

Afak looked at the general from head to toe folding her or his arms. Clark was not certain whether gendered terms were appropriate when referring to a robot like the Iron Tom. Even its voice was difficult to pin down. It could pass for either a male or a female voice. It was that ambiguous.

Afak stared at Clark for a couple of seconds. Then she said, “The general has cadmium color hair, burnt umber skin and ultramarine eyes. He is wearing a somewhat outdated Navy Uniform, from the year 2300. He is 182.76 centimeters tall…”

“That’s enough. So you can see him, somehow,” said Clark bemused.

“I told you I was not some figment of your imagination,” said the general smiling.

The weeks passed, and Afak was quickly integrated into Clark’s family. She ran simple tasks, like cleaning, and feeding her owner. She also managed his checkbook, and other unimportant matters. Her most important role was to ground Clark in reality. Before the summer ended, Clark resolved to do something with his life. He had not been in the labor force in years. He was not poor, but his savings where slowly decreasing, with only his wife’s input into their mutual saving’s account. It wasn’t cheap to maintain a house, and an apartment.  

“So, where do you want to work?” asked Afak.

Clark cringed for reasons he could not understand. Something about the tone of voice she had used was so familiar. Afak smiled, as she repeated the question using her normal voice, “Where do you want to work? I have some listings you can look through.”

Clark looked through the listings, and he eventually settled on a standard security mission. There was a mining Colony on Mars, and they were always in need of goons to maintain order. At the time, the fastest commercial bus took 4 days to get to Mars. There were other means of quicker transportation, but none that he felt he could afford. During those four days, Clark had some time for introspection. He realized why the voice Afak had used had bothered him so. During his last mission, he was growing something of a romance with one of the Journalists he was escorting. He thought he was in love. Years of complacency with his wife, had rendered their relationship dull, and lifeless. Hearing Afak use such a voice stirred memories that were long dead, and buried.

In the end, Clark pushed those thoughts out of his head. There was no point in thinking of the past. Cathay was dead and buried like all the others. When Clark arrived to Mars, he decided to not devote the matter anymore of his attention. He poured himself into his job. It truly wasn’t anything too exiting. His shift would last about 8 Sols. He was then allowed to return home, and stay with his family for an Earth Week, before flying back to serve another shift. It was during one of those dull, red Martian morning when an accident occurred at the mine. There was an explosion, with hundreds injured. Among then was his only living friend and confidant, the bizarre looking synthetic he called Afak.

Instead of going first to help the humans, Clark carried the unconscious Afak to the mechanic. The glass dome was broken, and there were damages in other small parts around the helmet. The mechanic looked at Afak over the top. After reading up the item number of Afak, the repair instructions were brought up. Together with his own synthetic, the mechanic fixed Afak’s helmet. Despite looking fresh, and new, the mechanic said, “This unit is still broken. The repairs I made are only superficial. You see this button I have pressed down. This will keep your robot in sleep mode till you can get it to Earth to have it fixed or replaced.”

“What is wrong with it?” asked Clark.

“Some circuits of the main computer got fried. It is hard to tell how this might affect the unit’s behavior. It is best not to risk it,” said the mechanic.

Two later Sols, and Clark had nobody to talk to, but the general. Since it was an alien planet, the bastard had not left even thought it was a week past Summer in Earth time. Clark only had to put up with four more Sols, before being able to return home. Clark observed Afak sleeping with a bit of envy. It was then when the familiar voice within his head started pestering him.

“You should wake it up. Why should your slave sleep while the master is awake,” said the general.

“Afak is not my slave. She is a tool nothing else,” said Clark.

“I heard that before,” snorted the general.

“So, based on your logic the fork and knife are also my servants too?” asked Clark drily.

“Well, they do cut your food and feed you, without reaping any of the benefits, so,” said the general.

“You know, I never bothered to ask your name. Can you even answer such a question?” asked Clark.

“My name is of little consequence. All that matters is that you wake up that silly toy of yours,” said the general. He added, “Do as I say cadet!”

“Sir, yes sir,” said Clark giving the general the third finger salute.

Clark was not known for making good decisions, and so he did what the general commanded. He was bored of talking with the general so, he turned on Afak. When Afak turned on, it gave a large high pitch scream. It then backed away into the corner and started looking about like a frightened animal.

“Woah! That was unexpected,” retorted Clark.

The general stared at Afak calmly. Afak slowly started to regulate its breathing, till it sat down on the floor. She pulled her feet together and rested her helmet against her knee to hide her face. Clark came to her, and petted her arm. She flinched from him, for reasons Clark could not understand. Controlling herself, she said, “Thank you, I feel a lot better now.”

The reassuring way she had said so did not inspire Clark much confidence. A Sol passed, and things seemed somewhat normal. The synthetic was looking about, and staring at things and asking a lot of weird questions. Clark answered mechanically, assuming that it had lost some basic information. On the Sol he was supposed to head home, there was another explosion in the mines, only this one was on purpose. The five other Iron Toms in the facilities had acquired guns from the armory and were putting down all the humans.

When Afak came for him, Clark asked, “Why are you doing this? Are you malfunctioning?”

Holding the laser gun, Afak said to him, “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Back on planet earth, Terry was watching the news while playing with a small toy soldier. The owner of the Iron Tom company was getting arrested. A few days before, the main building where their machines were being manufactured had gone up in smokes. It turns out that the Toms were nor robots, but a race of intelligent aliens, with low technology. The owner had used AI chips to force them to obey their human owners. This was a developing news, and each hour more chilling details came to light. Terry looked at the wall clock. Noticing it was time for his show, he told the TV, “Put on Channel 15.”

The Consequences of Your Actions

Wei was an orderly man. He would spend hours trying to get a pen in the right position. He did not take it well when his wife died, giving birth to his only son. She was his childhood sweetheart and he never remarried. He dedicated his life to raising their son, Fang. Wei never did quite know what to make of his son. The child would not cry, only gleefully smile when looked upon. Fang showed signs of great intelligence, and even started saying a couple of words when he was 11 months old. The fact that Fang was not like other babies had gotten Wei thinking. It was when Fang turned 4, that Wei was possessed by a singular idea. Wei thought his son had no true emotions. From then on, whenever Fang did something wrong, his father would lock him in a basement.

Such occurrences became less frequent, as Fang got older and more adept at guessing his father’s mood. Whenever Wei would lock his son up, he would say, “It is about time you learned there are consequences for your actions.”

This became a mantra for Fang. He would repeat it, whenever he would catch a school fellow on some fault. Known for tattle-telling, Fang completed basic school without making a single friend. Despite his son’s good grades and his fame of being a good boy, Wei still continued to suspect his son. He could not shake the feeling that Fang could easily become a serial killer or worse.

His fears were realized when Fang joined the army. This career path suited Fang. He was already used to being a tool. Due to his analytical skills, Fang never saw actual combat. He instead became a paralegal. After four years of investigation, he had been responsible for heralding the investigation that caused the court-martial of 45 corrupt officers. He was always present whenever they caught his target. He would always say to the fellow what his father had always told him, “It is about time you learned there are consequences for your actions.”

Fang’s last big case landed him some national attention. He even made a brief testimony on television. The following day he received a call from his father. Without showing any visuals signs of perturbation, Fang returned home to see his old man. Just like when he was a child, his father guided him to the basement and locked the door. It was then when he noticed the smell of gasoline that he understood. He started banging at the door yelling, “Father, you are going to kill me! Me! Your only son! There will be consequences you hear, in this life and the next. Open the door!”

“You are right. There will be consequences, but for once I am going to do the right thing. I should never have set you free into the world. Why do you still pretend to have emotions? We both know what you are. Rest in Peace, son,” said Wei walking upstairs.

Like a caged animal, Fang started rattling the surroundings and all the junk his father stored in the basement. Fang was silent for a moment to hear if his father would return. It was then when he heard the sound of a match, followed by the sound of a gunshot.

After the death of his father, Fang resolved never to think of Wei. Fang continued life as a paralegal in the private sector. While recovering from his burns, the nurse tending to him suffered a case of Florence Nightingale syndrome. The pair married the following Spring. On their second year in marriage, Nurse Xiu Ying gave Fang a baby boy. While Fang had been a well behaved baby, his brood was a bit of a handful. When his son Chao was five, there was a little incident that made Fang think of his father. His small son had taken the magnifying glass from his study and was using it to burn ants that were rising from a little hill.

Chao stopped the minute he saw his father come. Fang sat beside his son, staring at the little critters. Fang detested the ants and would occasionally poison them to keep them away from his tree. Still, he was not a fan of torturing an animal to dead, let alone setting them aflame.

Picking up an ant with his hand, Fang said, “You know that you did is wrong, don’t you? Just because an animal is small doesn’t make it right to cause them pain. Ants feel and hate like you do, and more importantly they can tunnel. You have seen them from time to time in the house, haven’t you? If you make an enemy of the ants, they might just tunnel through your head while you are sleeping.”

The Window

It was during dinner time that Yamato noticed a strange noises out the window. His first instinct was to get up and check it out. However, he chose to remain seating down. He already inspired enough animosity among the people he was supposed to call family. The transfer had been successful. He would only require to put up with their disdain for another two months. Once the trial period was completed, he could slowly transition into his old life. When he had completed his dinner, he was finally able to peak his curiosity. The youngest brat, whose name alluded Yamato too got up to stare. A single grimace from the 87 year old matriarch was enough to set the lad straight. 

The name of the current skin Yamato inhabited was called Tetsu. He had paid good money for the entire package. His original body had failed him some odd, four months ago. He was still getting used to being called Tetsu. A knocking on the door came, and a stranger called for Tetsu. Yamato meekly followed to see what all the fuss was about. Both Tetsu and Yamato had one thing in common: A Medical Degree, though the focused differed. While Tetsu was a surgeon, Yamato was a Virologist.

When he was outside, the man said, “I know that you are really Yamato, but I am not here to inquire about your private business. There is someone with a strange disease. I need you to examine him.”

Together, they went to the quarantine zone. There was a child on a stretcher and he was saying goodbye to his mother. Yamato had heard that tone before. Children who thought they were going to die, gave such a melancholic, comforting goodbyes. The kid was not going to die, at least, if he could help it. After getting into those cliché, white clean suits. He examined the child closer. The skin was pealing, and beneath was a black, icky, rippled texture. It reminded Yamato of gangrene or leprosy. For some reason, the kid did not showed signs of pain. It was possible that the virus or disease had eaten through the pain receptors.  Indeed, Yamato thought the kid was going to die.

This did not occur. For the next 12 years, Yamato and his team studied the patient. The weird skin mutations seemed to be linked to his growth. Like a crab, he would molt his human skin, before growing a new one. All throughout the cycle, the patient would look even more strange. One day he was tending to the patient, when he said, “I know that you people have been lying to me. I am not sick. This is just how I am. I want to go home to see my mother.”

Yamato had spoken to his superiors about sending the lad home to his grief stricken mother. In the name of science, the patient had not being allowed to return. The nameless patient was both very human, and quite inhuman at the same time. In the end, the scientists decided to perform vivisection. Minutes later, Yamato returned. He unstrapped the patient, and offered him a card with a phone number and his wallet. The patient would now be Tetsu. When the patient was summoned, the doctors found Yamato staring at the empty bed.

Yamato gave a wry smile. He then said, “It is about time I make my grand escape too.”

Without hesitating, Yamato jumped out the window splattering against the concrete floor.

The Bone

It was a normal day in the Metro Zoo. The tourists and locals alike were looking at the animals, while the animals dreamed of eating the visitors. Belinda was a zookeeper, who managed the birds. Since she was a novice, her responsivities were quite menial. She would have to feed, and clean the bird house. During one of those cleanings, she noticed a peculiar change in one of the birds. It seemed to her that it was shedding its feathers, and growing rather big. Her better sense told her to go find the manager. This decision helped saved her life. The animals in the Zoo were all changing at an alarming rate. It seemed to Belinda that they were turning into their Jurassic forms. This was just a poorly educated guess on her part. Her only knowledge of dinosaurs was limited to the silly movies that she would see in the theater. Regardless of the how and the why, the animals were changing. Those that grew bigger and more mobile had started pegging the visitors one by one.

After much chaos and running, Belinda had taken refuge in service center. While she sat there, she started thinking and wondering about the bizarreness of the entire situation. She pinched herself a couple of times to make certain she was awake. Her wandering blue eyes searched in vain for something to protect herself with. In the end, she found a taser that was commonly used to force the bears to come out of their caves, during visiting hours. The bears too were larger than usual.

Belinda looked dourly, as the park managers were being mauled by prehistoric bears. It seemed to Belinda that aside from the change, the animals retained their memories. Slowly, Belinda made her way from building to building. She was slowly trying to make it to her car, to drive out of there. Eventually, she made her way towards the lab. She secured all the doors and windows. She was about to make another mad dash towards another building, when she saw a Wholly mammoth. She decided to stay inside, and wait a bit till it moved. While being forced to wait, Belinda had some time alone to think.

She thought, Why aren’t humans affected?

While thoughtlessly rummaging through the lab, Belinda finds a piece of bone. She studied it with interest. The bone was the unla of an unidentified lifeform. The bone itself was thin, and as long as Belinda’s leg. When she picked it up, it started emitting a strange glow. She dropped it, and then picked it up again, to defend herself against one of those raptors that had breached the barricades. Before it got to her, the light of the bone had turned the raptor back into a chicken. Belinda started making her way around the park, with the light of the bone growing stronger and stronger.

Her coworker, Mr. Smith suddenly appears from inside a garbage can. Looking bewildered he asked, “How are you doing that?”

“I don’t know, but it is fixing the problem. Isn’t it?” said Belinda.

 “The bone was the source of the problem to begin with,” said Mr. Smith.

The archeologist told her how he had found the bones, and how when he putted them together, they started to glow, before exploding in hundreds of different directions. He would have gone to the hospital, but then the problems started. After bandaging himself up as best he could, he hid in a garbage can to wait for the police or something. The pair started rounding up survivors, and putting away the animals that had already turned back to normal. The effect of the bone was slow acting, while it had changed the animals quickly, turning them back to their original form seemed to take minutes, and sometimes hours.

By dusk, Mr. Smith and Belinda had escorted everyone to safety, and had collected the rest of the bones. They were putting the bones back together in the lab. It was at this point when Belinda asked, “Did nobody here call the cops or something?”

“They did,” said Mr. Smith, “But I did not allow for the call to reach its final destination.”

“How? Why?” asked Belinda bewildered.

It was at this point that Belinda got closer, and took a better look at Mr. Smith. The bandages and covers did not have a speck of blood, and why the glasses and the hat, and the trenchcoated. Mr. Smith chuckled and said, “You are smart for a blondie.”

He then removed the bandages to show that he was a reptilian. The light of the bone was slowly having him turn back into something that resembled a human. When he was “himself” again, he explained.

“Before there were men. There was I, or us or whatever. You heard about those conspiracy theories about reptilians, yes, I am one of them. Through selective breeding and gene therapy, we have made ourselves resemble humans. Through the power of those bones, my true nature was released,” explained Mr. Smith.

“Why are you telling me all this?” asked Belinda confused, “Are you going to kill me or something, to silence me?”

“Don’t be too alarmed. This is just the side effect of a gas leak, combined with a breach in the zoo security system that caused some of the animals to escape,” said Mr. Smith brushing off her concerns.

“Still, why weren’t we, I mean, me, the humans affected by the bones?” asked Belinda.

“Who knows?” said the reptilian Mr. Smith shrugging his shoulders.

The bones started to resonate, and it then took the form of a robed mage. It too was a reptilian, like the fellow standing beside Belinda. It spoke, in a soft hushed, ancient language that only Mr. Smith could understand.

It said, “Eons ago, I was the sole mage among our civilization. Our people scoffed at my efforts and my magic, so I decided to destroy their civilization by summoning a meteor. My people did not grasp the importance of magic, and neither do the humans. All of existence will be in great peril if science continues to suppress and belittle the wonders that can be achieved via magic.”

The mage stopped and shook its head sadly. It turned around to see something that only his eyes could see. Laughing, he added before turning to dust, “What is the use. It is already too late. Have fun with your little lasers, and robots.”