Chapter 8: Past and Present Rabbits

The sound of the tumbling waves was echoing . It was as if he had lived it all just the day before. His hand was laid on the window while the other one was gripping the steering wheel. The wind played with his hair while he smiled. A morning ride across the coast of Florida had always been a better thing to do than bury himself in that lab of his, his and his friend's. The car stopped, facing the building before the driver picked up an oily bag from beneath the passenger chair. The man in his late twenties found a little kitty coaxing herself to his hands as he rubbed her head and moved his short nail across her nose. The little one closed her eyes in satisfaction, opening them whenever he seemed to be slowing down. He left a pot of meat beside the door as the kitty stepped closer and dug into the pot.

"I'm back," the man walked inside, picking up his badge. Bob Polion was the name on the badge. He stood next to the door, watching how his friend would walk back and forth in parallel with the table's edge. It was easy to hear the man's constant obsessive murmuring as he would keep his forehead in between his fingers and wipe his temples with his forehand. Was it the stress or the summer?

"Isaac?"

The man did not respond. The windows were still closed from last night, only a few straps of sunlight dug into the dark room through the cracks of in the shaky walls. Isaac turned around. There was an apparent weariness in his face mixed with shock and fear, yet he was so tired that expressing the conflict in his mind was a straining one. He limped towards the bag, not able to find the strength to pull that burger. He sat on the ridge of Bob's desk, his burger with escaping cheese in his hand. He did not even take a bite. Bob was taking his second bite when he threw the bag in the trash can and put the napkin under the meal.

"Isaac, what's wrong? I've been with you so many days that I can now distinguish between you being tired and you being upset. Something's happened, I'm sure of it," Bob said, putting his burger aside before his lips were around the top of a bottle, letting water wash it out. Isaac sighed, yanking the burger unto the floor. Layers of bread, meat, cheese, tomato and salad were atop each other in a long line. They swam in a mixture of ketchup and mustard. Bob slapped his head, taking yet another bite of the burger before raising his feet atop the food and then standing on the other end of the room, right next to his friend.

"I'm not cleaning that up and you are paying for that burger. Besides, zero bites from my burger for you," Bob said.

"We messed up, bro. You should get up and check on our rabbit," Isaac said, his fists coiled. They were shaking as if they were about to explode. Bob walked towards their work table, watching the shining corners of the glass box. The rabbit was inside, there was a stitched slice around his head in between his stretching ears. The rabbit seemed to be moving in a square, stopping whenever his nose almost touched the glass. Whenever he got closer to the boundaries, he would swerve to the other direction, going from left to right. Deep into his eyes was a deep light that seemed to be sending shining lines across his eye socket. Every few seconds the rabbit would stop, squeak and then continue his course. There was not an urge to eat or to stop as a result of tiredness. Still, there was no denial that the rabbit was in pain of this continuity, of his automation. Bob watched in horror while his friend explained.

"After we planned the chip in his mind, the rabbit started showing signs of change. Our intended result was that he would use the chip to analyze ways to get food, or to find a mate. During the first few hours, we were successful. Just moments before you arrived, I was thrilled, about to die of happiness," Isaac said.

Bob could not take hold of his fastening breaths. He blinked in hysteria before he sat on the chair, watching the poor creature be played across four corners like baseball game.

"Then?"

"Then, his behaviour started to change. He did not intend to his basic needs anymore, but his automated needs, to the chip's needs. I saw this coming, I swear I did, I only refused to believe it for the sake of carrying this experiment through. The chip took control of his mind, Bob. There is not a simpler way to say it, he is under its mercy. Now, he will keep on moving along a line of his own making, analyzing what he considers a threat and a non-threat until his body withers and dies. We cannot even take the chip out of his mind. Either ways, we robbed him of his life, of his… soul."

"I thought you didn't believe in soul."

"Soul, perception, artistic vision, call it whatever you want. If this happened to a human, he will literally not be able to think beyond the box, beyond an algorithm, a pattern. He will be a slave to a chip that was designed to be his. Everything will be rebooted from Z to A, one will not be able to think or act like before, a literal robot. I guess this puts an end to our research then," Isaac said, walking towards the door in a desperate manner. Before his hand could touch the handle, he heard his friend speak.

"Clearly this change was gradual, and I'd bet that it was caused by another factor," Bob said. Isaac stopped, shurgging.

"I may have sent too many signals to the chip. You should have seen it, Bob, the creature wasn't responding at all. I had to do it!"

"Damn it, Isaac! I told you to let things flow, I told you not to force it upon the subject of the experiment. What is wrong with you? I told you that the consistent breaking of virtual walls in a rapid order will result in either a breakdown or full chip control. You should have expected something like that to happen," Bob said, smashing his fist unto the wooden table. Dust flew in the air, taking shape in the sneaking sunlight.

"I don't know what to say, Bob. He wasn't responding, I had to keep a little faith, I had to trust that maybe it'll work."

"Faith? Isaac, we don't talk faith, we talk only results! You were the one to always tell me that!" Bob yelled. Isaac dragged a chair and sat with his skull in between his palms, shaking in delirium. His quaking would intensify whenever he would hear the rabbit's nose bumping into the glass. Bob was not satisfied either. Only dust traveled the room.

"Listen to me, we don't have to abandon the research. If it works on animals, it may work on humans too. All we need to do is not force it upon them, we need to let the chip combine with the organic brain, otherwise the consequence is obvious. Besides, an animal's brain remains inferior to a human's. It's not easy for a human to fully succumb to the power of the chip, especially a fresh mind. It's a will bigger than any other creature's, don't fall into the assumption that our research will turn people to robots," Bob explained, patting his friend on his upper back.

Isaac withdrew himself with a quick nod. He beamed as he stood off the chair, walking towards the glass box.

"I'll go to the other room and bring something to clean this mess up," Bob said, roaming for a brush and a bucket of water.

Isaac put his hand on the box, around the upper ridge.

"Somehow, whether to me, to Bob, or to someone in the future, this power will pass on. I have to trust that this person will be able to use this power for a noble goal, someone will make this rabbit's suffering worth it in the end," he said. Bob heard it all behind the door.

Years later...

The glowing in his eyes was starting to disappear; it was as if he had just awakened from a long dream. Tears were still around his eyes, but their saltiness were mixed with blood. In midst of the whole blurriness of the situation, the blood that embellished his clothes was not his. He looked at his hands, there was drying blood all around his palms. Roger's eyes reflected deep shock as his jaw dropped, wondering how on earth that blood got to his hands. At the moment the ringing left his ears, bullets rained upon the crate behind which he was hiding. It was apparent that he spent the last few minutes beating his way through waves of guards and robots alike, dropping them like dolls.

He crouched holding covering his ears in fear of the hot bullets. It was the first time he had ever experienced the heat of bullets. There was not a ridge or a corner that was not shot at, it only took a quick flank to kill the threat. Behind the other end of the building, a guard was helping Jerry carry the boss to an ambulance while more mobsters swarmed into the place.

"How did I even get here? All I remember was that I was left in the simulation; I was tied to a platform… Oh man," he yelled as he fell on the floor when a bullet almost tore a bridge through his nose. He crawled to the center behind the crates.

"With a number of mobsters like that, I must have done something really bad," Roger thought, looking at the door being pushed from his side. There was a patrol robot with a prosthetic pistol arm, his eyes were fixed on the young Roger. The latter could not even use his chip to control the robot. The robot's eyes were darkening before the light inside them turned green; its wheels rolled like a sports car during an initial vroom. Bullets were released on the mobsters as someone sneaked inside behind the robot, hiding behind the same crate as Roger.

"Mr. Polion, you're here. How did you know I was here?" Roger asked.

"Long story, kid. Get ready to run when I tell you," Bob said, moving his fingers as if he was typing. It did not take long before holes filled the robot's torso and skull. The robot's glowing battery juice gave color to the ground.

"Now!" Bob yelled.

They sprinted towards the door as bullets holed the walls. There were about five armed bots aiming at them with threatening eyes and unwavering gestures. Roger took a step back behind Bob, listening to the threats of the patrol bots, there were even mob bots. Bob frowned, sensing his inability to control the police's sealed bots, but there was yet another option. The mobsters were behind them, some flanked them around the building while others had a hand on the door.

"Can you control a car?" Bob whispered, putting his hand around his friend's son.

"What? No, I tried that before and I had a seizure. I can't do it, think of something," Roger stuttering with a pile of sweat escaping his skin and wetting his two-day clothes.

"I already am, but it'll have to depend on your ability to control a vehicle. If either of us fails, we're both toast," Bob said.

Roger initiated contact between passing cars, but each one would slap and shake his brain harder. Roger raised his hand again, sensing a wall after the other breaking and crumbling for his light to reach its destination. Meanwhile, Bob beamed at the sight of the cavalry, a multi-functional butler named Sylvester. The bot jumped off the building, captivating the eyes of the other robots as they rained fire upon it. The amount of bullets Sylvester took was deadly. Bob turned towards his bot, perceiving the faltering light in his eyes, and nodded before he jumped inside a coming vehicle with Roger. His hands were already clinging to the steering wheel. Sylvester fell on the floor shaking. Glimpses of a lifetime with the Polions flashed across his sight as he would produce bits of muffled and mixed monologues with each picture. The light escaped its eyes, initiating shutdown as more bullets rained upon the cold body of steel, giving the others the possibility to escape.

"This vehicle was sealed with a third degree seal, I knew I could count on—" Bob turned with a dying smile as he observed the light around Roger's eyes. Overriding the vehicle had given the chip power over his brain. Bob took a long breath, spotting the pursuers falling far behind through the mirror. Bob kept a straight look in his face while Roger was getting closer to him, as if he was scanning him, the same way a hungry beast would smell a creature to know whether it was fit to be eaten. Bob had already known that when controlled by the chip, Roger seemed to be in control of all its capacities. He could even infiltrate satellites or even launch a nuclear arsenal, yet nothing specific would provoke him to do the reasoning and come to the feared conclusion. Roger could plainly dig into Bob's mind to know if he was a threat or not. Bob remained neutral, but he could not keep control of the wild possibilities that shook his brain. Roger was doing the reasoning; he was one grip away from choking the old man.

The vehicle shook as two patrol bots mounted the vehicle.

"A threat!" Roger screamed before he jumped out of the window all the way to the top. He tossed his hand into the bot's battery, wounding it as a few cuts embellish his arm and knuckles. He squeezed the juice out of the bot's battery. He then zigzagged while the bot fired at him. If the poor thing felt, he would have sunk in desperate fear while Roger flipped it and then pulled its scanners. Still, there was a smaller bot that none had seen at first, digging its hand into the vehicle's battery. Color was stripped off Bob's face when he noticed the counter degrading in energy. The steering wheel did not work anymore, neither did the breaks. They were heading into a wall with a speed that would only degrade after the crash.

Bob felt something pulling him from the left as he saw Roger gripping him outside of the vehicle. During those small instances, he saw how the light around his eyes was disappearing, leaving the color inside his eye pulp to fully appear, with no glowing effects. Roger was back again. Before the vehicle could hit the wall, Roger and Bob leaped. The other bots arrived on the place, scanning through the smoke, spotting the crack on the wall because of the crash. None was found. The day was over, but the chase wasn't.

The two escapees sat atop a building. Bob had a hand on his heart, anticipating a a heart stroke. Roger put his hands on the terrace, panting with drops of mixed sweat, spit and blood drizzling all the way down. Bob sat with his back on the terrace, stretching his feet while looking at the young Roger with the sun shining on his face. It was a facade since the start, he thought, it was an illusion that he and his colleague had created in order to put a halt to their worries. The longer he looked at Roger, the more his mind would propel him to imagine the sort of atrocities that would be if the chip took control of his mind again.

Who the hell is the threat? Is it really Owinson? Or… you, Rogers?

"Tell me, how did you find me?" Roger asked.

"Your Uncle came looking for you. Owinson gave me a link. I followed the thread until my chip was linked to a camera bot inside a warehouse, the one where I found you. You were stuck inside a platform with branches all over you, they were contemplating the idea of using your abilities for the family's sake. Now, tell me how you came in contact with the family in the first place."

Roger gazed at the cloudy sky, trying to observe that beauty Tamara talked about.

"Owinson threatened that if I don't find a file that is within the mob's possession, he would hurt those I love. I know the sick snake would not want to care about the file, but he seems to be trying to push me to exceed my limits."

"Well, you were well played. You are wanted by the Pacific now, every scume out there is looking for you."

Roger smiled, even let out short bits of laughter.

"What's so funny about that?"

"She's smart, that Louisa. I cut a deal with her, I'd do something for her in exchange of the files. In order to assure that I stick to my side of the deal, she planned for the all these events to happen. Being wanted by the Pacific is the only guarantee that I play by the rules. Once she takes control of the family, and that's if I play her game in the first place, there would be no bounty over my head. Well played, Louisa, well played," Roger muttered. Bob turned to him with a frown.

"Roger, what the hell did she ask you to do? And what's in this file anyway?"

Roger furthered himself from the terrace towards the door that led downstairs.

"Owinson has ears, I can't talk about this any further. Listen, I can't go home, they'd go for my Uncle. Do you know somewhere I else?"

Bob stood as well. "I can't take you home and let those crazies get to my family? It seems we're both not going home tonight, I know a place where you and I can lay low for a couple of days."

"You know, You don't have to come with me, Bob. You are not wanted by the family, you would just be making things worse for yourself."

"Shut up, kid. I need to watch over yourself, you should have seen yourself," he said, regretting the words a second after his lips were closed. Roger kept silent, looking at the floor while receiving visions of beating, choking, scenes of objective and senseless violence. Bob put his hand on the door's handle when Roger brought it up.

"Shortly after we jumped off the car, I remembered what happened inside the warehouse. I choked the old man and then threw him on the wall, didn't I?"

Bob turned back and looked at him. The truth was obvious.

"I started beating everyone, not in the sense one would consider heroic. I could have stopped, talked, I could have escaped or even pushed someone out of the way. But I didn't think it through, I just saw people as black and white, up and down, as a threat and a non-threat. I turned just like the people I detested; I turned just like the very machines that kept my father away from home. Tell me, Bob, didn't that happen?"

"Roger, It is not the right time to talk about this. Let's focus on clearing your name," Bob said.

"I also remembered that I was conscious, only that I had no control over my body and practical… let's say… reasoning. I was just a passenger, witnessing everything, I couldn't even control the bones of my face to make an expression of how I felt when that man begged for mercy while I kept blowing his face. I was trapped inside my own head," Roger said, his body seemingly waning. The look of fear was carved in Bob's face as the old man almost tore the handle off the door, shaking it. What he and his friend theorized, he thought, that the being with the chip could be trapped inside its own mind while the little glowing thing dictated what should be done with the nerves based on a certain plan of reasoning similar to a computer, was true. That rabbit, he remembered, was suffering behind his dead eyes.

Roger blinked as he sensed each of Bob's hand put on his shoulders. The old man clutched his shoulders tightly while he spoke to him, using a what's left of his power to conceal Owinson from hearing him.

"Listen to me, Roger, there is no denying that you did those things. Still, none of it was your fault, you can blame me, your father or the chip for today, but that was not you. Listen closely, between everyone he knew, Isaac chose to trust you with that bloody chip, to trust you with that power. Your mission is to prove he was right for trusting you. The chip will not take control of you if you are careful with your willpower. Now, promise me, that you will prove your father right for trusting you," Bob spoke with passion.

"I don't—"

"Promise me!"

Roger took a moment of silence before his eyes met Bob's.

"Okay, I promise," Roger said, walking by the old man towards the door as he withdrew his hands from his shoulders. He pushed the door and walked downstairs while Bob followed him, contemplating an inevitable conclusion if Roger did not live up to the promise.