Chapter 21: Happy Birthday

"Wake up, it's getting late!"

Roger heaved his head off the pillow, his spit still dripping from his lips. Both of his eyes were closed as he lifted himself and sat by the side of the bed, rubbing his head. The room seemed to be empty, but there was no one there. Neither in the room nor in Garlem, at least when those he loved where concerned. He wished the sun had never risen. If only things remained still, if only he could keep it all together until the end of the month arrived. Still, there must have been someone, and that someone sat right next to Roger, even if it was all in his mind.

"Been a while," Roger said, looking at the sun from behind the curtain. He was smelly because of the drying sweat all around his body.

"Sure," the blind one said, his pixels assembling into his being again.

"So, what now, huh? Everyone I cared about, everyone you used to threaten me with, is gone. I'm all alone now with no motive to carry out the rest of the day."

"Oh it's not so bad, you still have me. If you give it a bit of thought, it's not so bad at all. In your, you know when speaking of simple people standards, self-destructive path, you reached levels even your father could not have anticipated."

"Does that make me better than you? Isn't that why you orchestrated everything that happened in this city so far to push me to the limit? Everything that pushed me to break a wall, to get closer to my brain stroke? It was all your doing. But you don't have to worry about anything now, I'll be dying soon."

Owinson gingered. He stood off the bed, walking around the room. It all seemed natural, his shadow and footsteps, the sun illuminating his face and the walls echoing his voice. Roger was deeply connected with him, even at a much deeper level than chips and brains.

"Do goals matter if you die in the first place? Maybe you and I should cherish the dance we had these last few weeks. It's been really fun," Owinson said, standing next to the window. Both of his hands were sunken into the blackness of his pockets. Roger looked at the ceiling, contemplating at the sight of the splashing lines of light. He would look left and right, observe his paintings one by one. His basket was hid under his bed, the basket where he kept all the blank portraits, the brushes, the dyes. The pictures of him and Jeremy, of him and his mother in the portrait atop the shelf. Roger felt his heart beating, yearning for someone in the house apart from a blind ghost.

"You see, little Roger, goals only matter if you don't die."

"Maybe you mean your reputation, your legacy."

"What's the difference? You are your reputation. I don't see how we get to define someone if it wasn't for his or her reputation. Still, some things are much deeper than mere reputation, or legacy. If you would like to think far enough, even legacy and reputation wither and vanish from the face of history, eventually I mean. There is nothing better than existence itself, pure existence."

"But that's impossible. Even if you do possess the chip, with the death of your brain, it dies as well."

"Oh maybe this explains exactly why I still think you are not ready for… for that moment."

"What moment?"

"There has to be a decisive moment."

"I said what moment!"

Roger felt something of an encrypted signal coming to his chip. As he deciphered it, it was a phone call. Owinson stood by the side, a foot over the other with a stretching smile while Roger listened to the one behind the other side of the call.

"I know you were involved with releasing Jerry. I was merciful enough with you to let you go, but now I'm gonna have to listen to my ex-boss' son and bring down the whole wrath of the Pacific on you!" Louisa said before hanging up the call. Roger looked back at Owinson with a mix of confusion and anger.

"I see you want to put pressure on me. I don't care about my life, and there is no one else to care about."

Owinson, still smiling, looked at the TV signaling it to be switched on. The news channel was put, the world seemed to be on chaos as the headlines spoke of a hacker charged with privacy invasion. The hacker was also charged with ruining both public and private property, hacking into a satellite and even controlling armed bots. Roger leaned closer towards the television with his hand hooked to his chin. Everyone, cops, bots, law enforcers, bounty hunters, feds, was after this one hacker who was a public threat to the whole of Garlem.

"And his name is Roger Garaldson," Owinson said, keeping his finger under Roger's name in red in the headlines.

Roger heaved his fist and hammered it on the table, shaking the vase before it fell to the floor. "You still can't force me to do your dirty work anymore! I will gladly give myself to them if that's what it takes."

"Oh, that was not my motive. I did tell Louisa about you and give the cops evidence on your misconduct, or what they assume as misconduct, but I did that to heighten things up, not to force you. Here comes the real news. You remember Liam Troddle, the one Tamara was after."

Perplexity was all in his face.

"He now has the blueprint on how to create well-functioning chips. The possibility of a mistake is so low this time, His new chip bearer will be a gamechanger. Since I'm retired, you are the only one with a chip left in this city. You are the only one capable enough to stop them, to stop them from leading the world to a darker future."

Roger looked down at his scratched palms. Owinson stood next to the window; Roger felt him leaving. His hair straps were turning into small cubes which in themselves turned into smaller cubes before dusting into the wind. He left him with words that would echo throughout his mind for a number of seconds.

Happy Birthday, kiddo!

Before Roger could dive deep into thinking of his ordeal, he heard noises outside of the building. He stepped closer to the window, both hands hooked on its ridge as he peeked from behind the glass. There were three Special Forces vehicles parked facing the apartment, only one law enforcer stayed at each steering wheel. Roger could almost fear his heart stopping as he stepped away from window and heard the knocking on the door. Roger looked at the other window, flying vehicles passed by it throughout their invisible transportation line. As he sprinted towards the window, an explosion on top of him took place, yanking him away towards the kitchen wall. Plates fell on top of him. They fell and broke on the sides; he shook while standing, his chip displaying the coming threat. Armored enforcers were holding laser rifles.

Roger attempted to override the weapons, yet they were sealed. More enforcers broke through the door, arms in hands and eyes on scopes. Roger raised his hands in the air while his chip displayed possible ways of escape. The corridor was crowded with angry enforcers, stepping closer to roll the locks around Roger's wrists. Roger had his eyes on the lamp, contemplating an old trick.

If it seemed noble, then it is justified. Then… you wouldn't mind if it actually happened, would you?

With a single signal, the lamp heated and exploded as its burning shards clung unto the armored enforcers. In the midst of the tension, while losing their balance because of the shock, they pressed their triggers and shot at random directions. Roger rolled and reached the window. He took a step back, his heart sinking at the sight of how far the nearest car was from the window. The enforcers were already behind him, each finger closer to the trigger than the other. Roger closed his eyes, overriding a vehicle's navigation system as it came crashing towards the wall. Roger jumped on top of it before leaping to another vehicle. Its driver was awed at the sight of his steering wheel, hence the whole of his paid vehicle, disobeying his wishes. Roger put his hand on the vehicle's metal, sensing its smaller hovering pods under its surface. The waves were stronger, more directed at speed than keeping balance.

Roger's eyes widened at the sight of a missed bullet. He looked back to see hovering motorcycles accompanied by a bigger car than usual. A fellow at the front had a laser rifle while the others kept using regular bullets. Roger looked at the coming intersection, he used his chip to slower another vehicle while the other part of his sphere focused on raising the speed of his current one. He stepped atop the windshield and the engine cover before he rolled and jumped. The sight of the long way down would shake the depths of his heart. A sense of revulsion would travel across his stomach. Still, there was no time, law enforcers and mobsters were after him. He controlled the other vehicle, spotting the skyscraper in between while the invisible hovering road was divided into two. The mobsters seemed to be stuck, but Roger had another thing coming.

Two armored protection bots were implanted on the top of the vehicle, metal fists clenched and eyes glowing. Roger kept a side of his brain on the navigation of the vehicle. He attempted to override them, yet they were sealed. They were the same bots that served under Liam Troddle and his likes of the organization. Wonder how Tamara could override them easily while he could not. The first bot started shooting at Roger, laser shots, as the young man zigzagged and attempted to shove the bot. It was of no use, the other bot next to him swung his metal arm to his direction. Roger had his right cheek bruised as he rolled atop the flying car, holding unto its door. The building in the middle was close, and the vehicle seemed to be swerving to the right. Roger hung his palm on its engine, letting the flow of his consciousness override its system again as its speed leaped to the maximum and the steering wheel adjusted. Two more bots jumped atop the vehicle. Roger tossed himself inside the car, holding the driver next to his chest while the hovering thing thrust itself into the building, shattering a chunk of glass. The bots fell down off the vehicle.

Roger stepped out of the car. Somewhere deep in the forest of his scalp, there was a wound from which blood, covered his right eye. The employees stepped away from him. He hunkered, unable to keep a balance. He limped from a desk to the other, spraying his blood all around. His vision was still blurry, clearing with every passing second. There was something alerting him, but his blurriness could not allow him to fully see. The chip was displaying a threat, but once he knew it was too late. From behind him, he heard a deafening sound behind him. A helicopter rose in the air, from which more enforcers, among whom were robots, appeared. They launched their ropes towards Roger who fell on his back, crawling towards the elevator behind him. He tossed himself, signaling for the doors to be locked as he set the lift on the lowest stage.

A second later, the doors opened again, showing two enforcers each gripping a pistol rifle. Roger closed the doors with his own hack, sweating in his clothes while waiting for the lift to finish the trip. Roger took a step back, hearing something from behind the lift as something of sharpness dug through the opening between the two doors. Roger tried to close it again, yet it only resulted in the shrinking of metal. Two protection bots were already inside the elevator, leaving the door open. Roger rolled in between the two, tossing himself two stages above the lobby. He then switched the elevator off, setting the bots on a fast trip to a dark depth.

He took the stairs and found himself limping in the lobby. He leaned on the wall, hands around his knees as he panted. Droplets of sweat rained on the floor. His chip sensed something coming, something tracking him. Roger was bewildered, looking left and right across the glassy entrance of the building. His heart sank at the sight of a wheeled vehicle speeding through the gate, it was too late to dodge. He could only do the one thing that pushed the blood off his nose the first time he tried it. The vehicle's system was switched off, numbing the engine and thus freezing the wheels before the car flipped, still on its way towards the lobby. It didn't take Roger with it, yet the whole of the lobby was destroyed. In midst of the dust and smoke, Roger stood bewildered, senseless of how his blood ran, as he watched employees and mobsters injured alike.

What have I done?

Roger shook it off, running towards a motorcycle. The keys were already inside, it must have belonged to one of them mobsters, he thought. He rolled his feet around, both hands gripping the handles. The wheels went rolling throughout the road; the traffic was on the way. Roger turned to the sidewalk, his heart pumping whenever a pedestrian was on the way. They were set apart, phones in hands recording the rushing young man. He was closer to the intersection; his chip had multiple readings. A laser shot burned the frontal wheel, flipping Roger on the road.

He crawled away from the motorcycle, hand on his head as blood was dripping through the openings between his fingers. His chip was glitching, either because of the flip or because more readings were funneled into Roger's perspective. As the blurriness of his eyes was clearing out, he realized he was cornered. An army of protection bots came from a side, the mobsters came from a side and the law enforcers came from a side. From the fourth side, the side where he had come, there were the pedestrians and the traffic cars. Roger sensed Troddle among the pedestrians, cloaked as usual, and then saw Gary among the mobsters. Among the side ranks of the enforcers was the suited Lorenzo, a cigarette in between his lips. He winked to Roger, saluting him.

Maybe I should…

Roger's eyes started to turn fully glassy, mirroring all the lights around him. The black color found its way to his eyes again.

No, if I let the chip take control, my instinct will propel her to kill everyone, even the civilians.

He stood, rotating around as he looked at the lights all around. He was busy running he forgot it was dusk already; the city was darkening.

Garlem's beauty…

Aside from that, the bots had scanners and thus taking out the lights would not hurt them much. Roger hesitated, yet he could not stray away from the inevitable conclusion that he had to break yet more walls, even if it would set his deadline closer. Roger sat on the gravel, legs crossed and eyes closed. Even the press was there, a helicopter had its light directed at the young man. All factions hesitated at the sight of the other, unaware of what should be done while Roger was straight reading the numbers.

Roger opened his eyes, they were glowing.

It started with the further and simpler apartments before it jumped to the bigger buildings excluding governmental ones and Red Tech's headquarters, spreading to cars and jets. The helicopter's light was switched off. The whole city turned dark. The army of bots swarmed towards Rogers, he smiled. A group of overridden service bots jumped from the buildings on top of the robots army all around, some came through the alleys and newer ones broke out of the delivery trucks. All had a bit of Roger's order in them, mingling with the protection bots through any means necessary. Roger turned around to the traffic cars behind him. With a single blink, the lights of the vehicles returned and their wheels went rolling forwards and then leftwards. The mobsters and the enforcers stepped out of the way, even started shooting at the cars thinking Roger made a move. During the few following moments, only the sound of robots clinking and pedestrian clattering could be heard. The lights at the far borders of the city returned.

Once the rest of city was lightened, once the service bots were terminated, once the whole world looked again, Roger was nowhere to be found.

A trail of blood was left on the wall as he leaned on it on his way to the workshop. There were the usual the stairs leading down to the workshop's door. Roger opened the door, tossing himself inside before shutting it behind him. He was fortunate that Bob kept a few disruptors in his workshop. Once Roger had landed his first step, he slumped on the floor. Every bone in his body screamed with pain, his nerves were unable to deliver his brain's orders. He could not feel his left feet and his right feet's toes. He could only use his hands to crawl through the room. He pulled himself into the bed; his head resting on the pillow as he looked up at the ceiling.

BRAIN DAMAGE DETECTED…

POSSIBILITY OF A BRAIN STROKE WITHIN 11 DAYS…

"Calculate the odds of instant death," Roger muttered.

FIVE TO ONE…

Roger smiled, coughing. He sat on the side of the bed, aimlessly looking at Bob's workshop. His computer, his research, his desk, all the papers hung on the walls. Roger looked up at the ceiling, hopeful something would happen. He then looked down on the floor in between his legs, blood dripping from his head. He tore a piece of cloth and kept it there, trying to stop the blood. He could not even think straight, everything seemed dark and unforgiving. He was about to die, and the city would be left in the hands of all sorts of tech fanatics that would carry it to the dark future one would only read about in novels or high budget movies.

"Goddamn it, what am I supposed to do now?" Roger said. "I don't have anyone to turn to. Not Bob, not Tamara, not even Jeremy. Uncle's left me all alone too. He must be freaking out now that he knew I'm a public threat. I can't believe this is happening, I just can't."

Roger left his hot sweaty spot on the bed, limping towards the table. He sat down on the floor, searching for Bob's recorders. He stretched his hand behind a box, pulling the other by its side before dragging it out into the center of the room. He roamed the recorders for a blank one as each one had a tag on it. At the very bottom, there was one with no tag on it. He pulled it, withdrawing to the bed with his back on the pillow. He pressed the button.

"Roger Garaldson, this is—"

"Hello there," a voice came from the recorder. Roger stood again, heading for the basket to search for an empty one before he recognized the voice.

"Hey buddy, I know how much you hate this kind of drama. But I don't think I'm having much of a choice here," Isaac Garaldson said from behind the recorder, from another time. Roger collapsed on the chair, a sudden heat climbing up to his eyes. He put the recorder aside on the table, keeping his eyes in his palms as he could barely take hold of himself. It was the first time he ever heard his father's voice ever since he died. This time he was not an AI, not a simulation, not a program, but his actual father who held him the moment of his birth.

"You know, the chip says I got 26 hours tops if the odds were on my side. I know I should have told you, Bob, but I really didn't want you to concern yourself with me. You were as sick as I am, only that my time has come way sooner. There is no reason to feel bad about it, you know, we had a good run you and I. How far we've come, from the streets and the beaches in Florida to skyscrapers of Garlem. You've been with me every step of the way, when we had nothing and then we had everything. When we were students, when we both got married, the day I first had my Roger and the day you held Tamara in your hands. I only seem to remember these moments. Then we got as far as deciding the future of human-tech relationship, for the wrong people yet for the right reasons. It's been a wild run, I gotta say."

He paused for a few seconds. Roger sensed that his father was breaking down. It was the first time he heard his father so desperate.

"I don't know what do, Bob. I'm afraid, I'm really afraid. I did it all, yet I'm just afraid. Especially for that kid, Roger, if only I can sit with him and talk with him for an hour or two at least. He thinks I left him on purpose because my work was a lot more important. I spent the last years of my life caring for the future of humanity, developing this chip to preserve ourselves, our mind. But now all I am thinking about is my carelessness towards humanity's damnation. Damn them all! All I want is to sit with my son, I want to hold him tight and tell him I'm there for him. But what time do I have now? I'm sure he's gonna hate me more after the implantation takes place, there can't be another possibility. All I can do now is hope he won't let those snakes take control of the world's technology, be it Owinson or the organization. He will be the one to make the choice, no one will push him. All I can hope is that he can take it, he can endure, he can resist, he can sacrifice his personal pleasures and wallow in despair yet rise again. This is the one thing I didn't count the probabilities for, I just sit here hopeful whatever force out there weaving all our stories together would help him. Despite how bad this whole thing seems, I promised myself that I will die believing he will eventually love me, I don't want to die without hope. I think I should go home now, I will leave the chip here on the table. Take care, Bobby, you will always be my brother. Please, for as long as you're alive, watch out for my kid, would you? Even in my death, he's all I got."

He's all I got.

The recorder stopped. Somehow hearing his father sniveling made it easier for him to cry as well.

"You're all I got too, Dad. I won't disappoint you."

Roger stood off his chair, walking closer to a ragged printed picture hung on the wall. Bob and Isaac holding a rabbit stood next to each other, both widely smiling.

"I won't disappoint you, both of you!"