Chapter 17: Activation

He shook in her arms, head and feet moving like he was riding a horse. She would stumble on the road. She hid in alley when she spotted Gary's mobsters roaming the streets. Roger was the same since the satellite mission; his eyes were still gray and colorless. With every second, the pressure of her father being a captive, her mother in the hospital and Roger soulless in her arms, would scar her soul. Retrieving him required someone with a chip, her father. In turn, retrieving her father required her to use Roger's strength. Retrieving the father also meant retrieving her mother since the pressure was the reason behind she was put in the hospital. The whole sky was gray, shunning the city with a sense of darkness. The clouds seemed to be bloated with water, yet only arrogant drops of water would drip on the cold ground. The hospital was just two blocks away; the streets were less hectic than usual considering the weekend. She only feared Gary's mobsters.

At the end of the alley, there was an abandoned carrier with a rope. The carrier seemed to be belonging to an old service bot. She gently put Roger inside, placing his head on the side just in case there was any shaking. She pulled a cover from a rope across two walls, serving as a cloak and a cover to the whole of her body. She climbed on top of a chair to snatch a blanket from a window. She used it to shroud Roger inside the carrier. She pulled the rope atop her shoulder, rolling it around her palm as she took steps in pulling. The rain hammered on her head. On her way through the alleys, through darker alleys and darker layers of her mind, she kept on wondering. If her father had always been what she cared about since the start, why did she hold Roger's hand to stop him from connecting his mind to the satellite? Why would she fall on her knee and weep? Why would she toss him into a carrier and pull it with what was left of strength from a sleepless night, getting him to a hospital?

Forms of paradox clashed in her mind, distracting her of a nearing car or a rushing patrol bot. She did not need to walk any further, she stood facing the hospital. She put on her mask before she pulled Roger from the carrier, both feet lowered, powering up her shoulders to lift him. She was already inside the hospital; a bot with two nurses came rushing to him. Tamara took a step back, seeming to be denying any help.

"Stay back all of you! I need Doctor Barris, only him. No! Stay back, I need to see Doctor Barris!" She said, the look on her face frightened one of the nurses. Doctor Barris came rushing with a movable bed. Tamara secretly tossed her hand under the blanket and covered his eyes; there was no need for the nurses to notice how turned-off he seemed. Doctor Barris gripped the upper right corner of the bed without fully looking at the patient's face. Tamara's face was familiar, yet he remained unaware how that came to be. As they entered the room, Roger's face was uncovered and the doctor's eyes were set on him. At first sight, his heart hit so hard that he felt like a sting of a cactus. His eyes were blown and the color was snatched off his eyes. He sat back, bewildering the nurses who were busy adjusting him in bed and reading his vitals. The doctor, seeming to be familiar with this case, put the smaller needle into his arm while the serum flowed through his body.

"All of you, except the girl, I want you out of here, now! I have something to tell her, go on now don't keep me waiting!"

The nurses looked at Doctor Barris, perplexed at his behavior. He was pressured as if the sun had been hung just above the crown of his head. The first nurse retreated out of the room, the others were slow to follow.

"Now! Come on, leave!" Doctor Barris yelled, pointing at the door as if they were trespassing his property. They left the room, only he and Tamara remained. Doctor Barris walked back and forth throughout the room. Tamara could not help but to sit, it was a tiring morning.

"You knew about it all! You knew about the deal, the surgery, that's why you asked for me. Because I'm the only one who can know what is wrong with him," Barris said, trying to keep to his senses. He walked towards the young Roger, opening his eyes which turned into mirrors with a spur of gray. He winced, barely able to catch a breath.

"He tried to connect his mind to satellite. He wouldn't wake up. As you can see, his vitals are still active but he is nowhere. Even his eyes seem… different. Is there anything you can do to help?"

"Oh my God, I knew something like that would happen," Doctor Barris said, panicking ever further. His breaths were faster. The thought of what it meant robbed his mind of comfort, drowning him in a darkish anxiety. Tamara stood next to the doctor; his face was all questions.

"Sir, I need someone to explain."

The surgeon looked back at her; his eyeballs shook. He blinked before he looked back at the stiff Roger.

"The things that I am about to tell you now are still considered pseudoscience, a bunch of theories yet no strict evidence is given. I can only benefit you from my own well," the doctor stuttered, his feet dancing. His heels kept on rumbling the floor.

"Back when the notion of implantation started to occur. Everyone from the scientific community, technical especially, wrote articles telling the possible disadvantages of actually combining an AI with the power of the human brain, most feared what the AI could do to the human brain, others wanted nothing but that. The whole project was unsupported, even by strict technicians. Later, the notion of soul and consciousness started to arise. During these times, maybe during the times to come, people will start to believe that what we call soul is actually our own consciousness. There has never been a time when someone could detach her own consciousness from her brain, yet the chip made this true. Now, look at him, just a body with a setup of instincts. Based on previous cases, the leading theory behind not being able to return to the host is actually the loss of consciousness. Like I said, nothing is confirmed yet, but the most probable guess is that your friend's consciousness was lost in between the lines that webbed the satellites orbiting the earth, he lost himself. If that's the case, getting him back might be difficult because literally no one can reach him."

Tamara remained silent, her heart sunk as she sense despair in the doctor's voice. "Is… there anything else?"

The doctor looked back at her, adjusting his glasses. He raised both of his eyebrows before he turned back to her.

"There is actually, but this theory is usually ignored. Maybe your friend doesn't want to return back to his body, that is why he can't wake up."

"But--"

"No, let me explain first. You see, there may have been a conscious and rational decision from his behalf to actually transmit his consciousness back to his body, but it is not what he really wants. During cases when too much brain energy is used to power up the chip, the AI will expand its control. Still, it never does anything but what you want to do, what you internally want to do. Can you think of a reason why you're friend doesn't want to return?" The doctor asked. Tamara looked down on the floor between her legs. She recalled the look on Roger's face before they reached the gigantic space plate atop that building, how he spoke of Jeremy and his guilt. Through the window, she looked at the sky, as if she had seen his hollow orbiting his way around the world.

"He's depressed," Tamara said.

"In that case, there is only way to bring him back, at least the only way that I am aware of. Someone who possesses a chip, almost as capable as his, needs to connect herself to the matrix of space, to find fragments of his consciousness and to bring him back. If the matter is depression, trust me when I tell you it is a lot harder. To convince someone to change their internal will, especially while being pressured by signals all over the globe. Where will you find someone who possesses the chip?" the doctor asked.

There was only one idea in her mind. There was only one person capable of bringing back Roger.

Dad

She jumped off the chair, pulling her backpack on her way to the door. "I know someone who can, I will find him and be back here by the end of the day. Doctor, please take care of him until I return."

Before she could step out of the room, the doctor called her. "Hey, how do you know all of this? The chip, the implantation, my name. Would you tell me that?"

Tamara smiled, taking one last glance at Roger in bed. "I'm Bob Polion's daughter," she said before strode off. The doctor closed the door behind him, shivers traveled across his body. He withdrew to his chair, feeling a climbing numbness. He looked at Roger, savoring a sense of revulsion all of a sudden.

"So she doesn't know yet," he muttered.

Tamara walked into her mother's room. The lady was lost in thought when her daughter stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Tamara sat on her right side, keeping her old lady's hand in between her palms. The whole thing was teary; all eyes in the room started watering.

"Where have you been, honey? Have you heard anything about your father?

"I was looking for Dad, Mom. I know where he is now; I'm going to get him this afternoon. We'll be together again."

"Oh, baby, look at you. Have you been eating these last few days? You look sleepless and… messed up. There is something different about you."

"You don't have to worry about anything, Mom."

"I'm not sure I like how you seem different, I just want things to be normal again. Your father's sickness, my blood pressure and you… I'm worried about your future, Garlem has never been for you, we could never understand that."

"I'll get Dad and then we'll do what we see right, mother. Now, for as much as I want to stay, I don't think I'd want to keep Dad waiting for me," Tamara said, kissing her mother's forehead before she walked out of the room, letting a tear drop leave its mark on the floor. Cindy looked at the sky, all hopeful Tamara would live up to her promise. The young lady was out of the hospital, standing on the side of the road with her eyes set on the supermarket. She was not hesitant at all despite the dangers that may lie on her way. She looked up at the sky; the bloated clouds were leaving Garlem.

I hope you're watching over me, Roger.

He felt like boulders were tied to his old eyelashes. He could barely open his eyes as darkness would frequent his mind, the aching in his head never stopped. Both of his hands were stretched, hooked to chains that were up in the ceiling. His feet were kissing the floor; he seemed like a slain lamb. There were two machines stretched as if they were whispering in his ears, releasing signals in order to smother what was in his mind. Their second role was to disallow anyone from attempting to track his chip. There were no scars around his body, nothing but the redness of the streaming blood from his ears and nostrils. He tried to keep his eyes closed most days, trying to focus the energy of his chip not to succumb to the platform. Behind him was a two sided computer branching throughout the back of his head, attempting to glean info out of his mind. His stomach shrunk, his face paled and his lips dried.

Around the platform where he was tied like a test experiment, stood ten masked fellows. They wore red cloaks; their masks were embellished with glitch symbols. Two operatives sat behind a computer screen, analyzing the data sucked out of Bob's mind. The data still had not made any sense since Bob had prevented the transmission of data using what was left of his brain energy. Still, a bit more time and the formula to the creation of the chips would be in the organization's hands. The cloaked figures sat on chairs, looking at the tenth one standing with the platform behind him. It was their first assembly that week, the speaker had to prepare Bob for his grand finale. Before the man on the platform could speak, he bowed and the others followed before their voices met at an equal tone and at a single word.

"Our cause is greater than the moral standards by which the majority works. Eliminate all of those who threaten the organization's safety for we are the cradle of the future. Becoming a member of our society means believing that our minds are and were never tied to our bodies. Our consciousness can transgress anything, travel and flow through anything just like the moving wind. How poetic it can be, yet it is true. Only those who are worthy get to live beyond their waning bodies, only the worthy. Remember them, remember the tenants of our organization," they all recited, raising craning their heads again. The man raised both of his hands with his red cloak rising behind him.

"Brothers, sisters, I welcome you all to our first assembly this week."

They placed their palms on their chests, reciting together. "And we, in turn, welcome you."

The man nodded, keeping his hands together as he started walking back and forth in front of Bob. The crowd was silent more than usual, alerted at the sight of a tied rogue member in front of them.

"I thank you for delaying the assembly for three days, I now get to explain to you why I used this lodge. During the last few days, it has come to my attention that someone was trying to trace our meeting locations, trying to connect the dots, desperately seeking to tie each circle with the other. After having lost hope in what his chip could do, the traitor decides to return back to us in exchange for his family's safety. You see, unlike him, the holders of the future are capable of keeping their promises, thus his family was left untouched. As for our side of the deal, we trapped him here and gleaned all of his knowledge into a computer. Each disruptor blocks his mind from connecting to anything, he is trapped like a rat. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Bob Polion!"

He said as he stepped away for everyone to see the bounded Bob; blood droplets embellished his pants and floor. He was panting, barely able to open his eyes. A member at the front made a clap, almost expecting the others to follow. The whole of the crowd started clapping heartedly, an extending melody. The man at the platform smiled behind the mask, even raised both of his palms and clashed them into each other, putting a halt to the cheering.

"Now, I am sure a lot of you are familiar with Mr. Polion, especially those of you who were with us way before Garlem was no more than a few stones. Bob Polion, along with Isaac Garaldson, worked as an instrument of our vision. With the resources we and Mr. Owison had provided, with our money, with our own sacrifices, he was supposed to deliver us the future by the creation of the blessed chip. You see, and I do apologize for claiming that we have been mistake, but our mistake was that we trusted this rat, both him and Garaldson, with a power beyond their strength. Mind you, I am not speaking of their technical capability, I am speaking of their understanding, how naive and shallow it turned out to be. Both of Bob Polion and Isaac Garaldson had stolen our resources in order to create the chip for their own, so I guess… Mr. Polion here will not mind if we take his knowledge to fulfill our end of the deal. With the perfect guide on how to make the chip and perfect the implantation, we will guard the world's technology from now until the sun explodes," The man spoke, turning to Bob.

"You see, Bob, it was not about pure control if that's why you left the organization. It is all about what is necessary, we tend to create an ideal world from the heart of chaos, the essence of striking and burning realism. We do tend to control all form of technology, but the intention had always been the same; to protect this world and preserve the human mind," the man said, then turning back to his fellow members. The members nodded with a quick clap, showing their respects to the man's words. His voice was sharp; his hands would move whenever he spoke something of prominence, either to himself or to the greater group.

"Now, Mr. Polion seems to be resisting. The numerical flow of information seems to be interrupted through quick intervals of his, trying to stop it. The exact bit of data does not mean anything if the picture is not complete. Still, when it comes to how to make the chip, he succumbs and uses that one to rest. On the other hand, when it comes to the whereabouts of the last chip, of Garaldson's son, he denies and resists, squirms like a worm. I see how he is trying to make fools of us, he thinks that not giving the whereabouts of Roger Garaldson will somehow allow him to destroy us since he has the strongest chip of them all. No matter, we will pull that out of his mind as well before we force him into punishment and death without legacy."

The crowd nodded. The speaker withdrew from the platform, seeming to be offering a timeout until the full extraction is complete. With every bit of resistance he had in his mind, Bob's brain cells would extinguish, die one by one. He knew it was coming, one way or the other. The only question he dared not to think about yet unable to resist was why he was resisting in the first place. If he died before the end of the extraction, he would still leave his family vulnerable. If he died after the extraction, he would leave the whole world vulnerable. He had always believed his family to mean the world. Both outcomes were severe, unmerciful. Perhaps he had deserved it, for the all the evil he had done for the sake of saving humanity, for all the contradiction he chose to ignore, all the mouths he had shut.

Even if it is all meaningless, even if this fight was meant to be lost, Owinson's too powerful or the organization far reaching, but if we choose to stop resisting, we would be contributing to a time where freedom is no more, where people are mind-controlled by forces they had not even chosen. I planted chips in people's mind without their permission for the future of humanity. I wasted my time with my family for the future of humanity. I now tend to sacrifice my son for the sake of preserving humanity. No matter what happens, resistance is all I have and resist is all that I shall do, I will continue to fight until the last cell in my brain dies and until my heart stops beating. Promise me, Bob, promise me that even when surrender is the only option conceivable, you will continue to resist and stall until you die fighting.

Remembering what Isaac had told him before going back home that unfaithful night, Bob smiled despite the pressure and deafness, the noises and signals. The aching returned again as he chose to resist the withdrawal of information, putting every possible error to stop it. Veins would crawl up his pale head and he would snarl. His eyes twitched while his teeth clattered. He then let out a raging scream. All he had to was to plant the intention of resisting. It was nothing but a battle of AI then, and he remained in between the two cords. He had to keep on the intention of resisting.

Resist!

The pain was unbearable, like a thousand nails being dug into the whole of his brain, not leaving an area untouched.

Resist!

Numbness was crawling throughout his body, beginning with his feet as the chip started playing with his own nerves while burning through the process of resisting. His fingers shook, moved uncontrollably as he moved back and forth like a salivating beast. He let out a rumbling roar, screaming until his vocal cords ached. Even his chest started prickling him. The sight of him kept the members away and alerted. One of them withdrew to the bathroom to wash his face. It was either hard or scary to watch, either way the members had never expected to see someone resisting that hard, especially the speaker. However, one of the members with her draping cloak approached the platform. The speaker moved a bit closer to her, wondering what she was up to. Bob raised his head, looking at the lady behind the mask. He knew those eyes; he lacked belief. The member stretched both of her hands, turning off the disruptor.

"What are you doing?" the speaker said, both fists clenched as he walked towards her. The member threw down the cloak, following it with the mask before she crushed it under her feet. Bob remained tied, yet he was too exhausted to either speak or hack the locks. The members took a step back, watching how Tamara Polion held her Dad close. She heard him murmuring. It was so weak.

"You… shouldn't have come," he said before he closed his eyes again. She gripped her father tightly, especially at the sight of the members approaching. None of the members spoke anything, nor react. They remained silent, deliberate in their moves, which Tamara found strange. Tamara closed her eyes, keeping the phone close to her hand and whispering, as if pleading for help. Bob was bewildered at the sight of her daughter, almost seeming as if she was praying to an upper force.

"Tam…"

"Trust me, Dad, I broke those machines for a reason."

Come on, Roger.

The lights were all turned off under the ground. The locks around Bob's wrists were unsealed. The old man fell on the ground before his daughter carried him, wearing thermal glasses as she strode towards the door. She froze all of a sudden. There were smaller lights all around her, glowing in the darkness. She took off her father's thermal glasses, spinning as she watched how spawning lights spread across the room before the overall lights were switched on again. Tamara's jaw fell at the sight of more than thirty protection bots hidden across the room like nesting spiders. Even the cloaked figures were uncovered to be bots as well. The operatives on the computer turned out to be androids as well. Only the speaker was human, Liam Troddle. He sat at the back with his gingering voice echoing throughout the room.

"You really did think I'd endanger the lives of my comrades by meeting in a place like this, after that prick had ratted on me. My only concern was that you'd know that the clapping sound was fake, yet you're as fool as ever," Liam Troddle said, standing on the upper level with his hands on the rails. More security bots spawned from the dark, closing all doors, barring all possible exists. The bot on the front sharpened their arms, using a similar technology to the one presented at the auction house a few weeks back.

"We did extract the knowledge of chip creation from Mr. Polion. The only one that remains is Roger Garaldson. I expected him to come, to use the fingerprint and the other things I made clear to the whistle blower on purpose. You must be working with Garaldson, isn't it, young lady?"

Tamara surrounded her father with her arms as he rested on her shoulder, both eyes closed. She could sense his hot breaths flowing through her neck. She could almost crush the phone in her hand as she kept it close and kept on whispering, calling, almost starting to whimper when her eyes met the bots'.

"Roger, come on, we need help. There aren't any disruptors, I need your help. Roger, please," she kept rehearsing like it was a ritual. Her father opened his left eye, falling on his hands from her grip. She squatted next to him, desperate. He opened his eyes; his hands were clenching, coiling like balls. The whole of his being was shaking, which terrified Tamara. He then looked at her; she saw a tear in his eye. She read his lips before he heaved himself off the ground, standing clumsily.

"I'm sorry," he seemed to say. His raised both of his hands up in the air, initiating the overriding process.

"No! Dad, you don't have much energy, stop!" Tamara said, lowering his hands yet it was of no use. To stop him she needed to change his mind, to shift the core of his intention, either that or hit him at the back of his head. She shook his clothes, lowered his hands, even slapped him. He wouldn't waver. She could only hear him speaking. The veins were widening like a flooded funnel. His eyes were dancing. Like a squeezed bag full of liquid, blood was squeezed out of his head. Wounds were opened all around his skull. That was the last of his energy, the last of his brain cells. He knew the consequences; he knew about the stroke at the end of it all. Before the bots could raise their bayoneting knives in the air, Bob looked back at his daughter with a dry cut smile.

"Isaac… was not the only one who made the sacrifice."

The bots at the front turned back to their mates, initiating combat mode against their own kind. Bob fell on the ground, all stiff and cold. Tamara ducked beside him, her face stripped of its redness the same way Bob was stripped of his life. She held him in her hands, eyes bloated with tears. The bots tore each other apart while she held her father in the middle. He was dead, her father. In a split second, Tamara craned her neck with both eyes widely open. It was as if someone had spoken something in her ear, yet from behind the drums and not from the outside.

BOB POLION'S VITALS ALL STOPPED FUNCTIONING…

PERMISSION TO UNLOCK THE SEAL…

PERMISSION GRANTED…

PERMISSION TO ACTIVATE THE CHIP…

PERMISSION GRANTED…

SCANNING VITALS…

SCANNING BRAIN PATHS…

SCANNING NEURONS…

SCANNING FOR POSSIBLE ANOMALIES…

ALL SET…

CHIP ACTIVATION…

Tamara's hands were hooked on her head as she snarled, closing her hands while screaming. She looked at up, letting a wild shriek that kept Troddle curious from atop his own platform. She clambered on the floor, smashing it with her fists while the pain devoured her senses. Her hands moved in directions she did not intend to, her head went back and forth. She started winking uncontrollably. Her fists shook.

29%…

"No! What the hell is happening to me?" She yelled.

56%…

She looked at her father as if pleading for help.

88%…

She looked up at the ceiling, hoping Roger would somehow do something to smother her pain. There was no response, it was just her.

100%

The screaming stopped, so did the pain and hysteria. Her hair covered her face as she let both of her arms go, sitting on her knees. The army of bots had already tore Bob's overridden ones, huddling around the girl. The girl raised her head, seemingly deliberate and calculating. There was no sound, no face expression. There was only a shift in the color of her eyes. They were glassy and mirroring, much like Roger's. She stood, giving no care for her dead father lying beside her. She rotated, looking at the bots all around as if counting how many of them were.

There was nothingness before words were spoken through her tongue, words that were not hers at all.

"MAIN PRIORITY: PROTECT THE HOST AT ALL COSTS."