Chapter 1
Ethan stood and paced when his pulse became a battering ram in his veins. He had to find a way to explain it to them. They were logical. They would understand. He paused, realizing. AL. He’d designed him to think outside the box. He could help him find a way out of this, a way that would end the connection to his cyber hell without ending his entire family.
“Big G,” he finally called, back to pacing.
He suddenly stopped at getting silence. “Big G.”
His pulse tripled as he turned to his computer. “AL,” he called.
He ran out of the room to the hall, opening the door to the control panel. His stomach knotted at finding all the right lights on.
“BIG G. AL,” he called louder, hurrying back to his computer. His hands and breaths shook as lines of data rushed through his brain. He forced himself to pause and think. What would cause this? Satellite disruption? Solar flare?
“Big G,” he gasped, his panic returning as he turned on his computer. He froze at the image on his screen.
Incoming Message from Big G
Ethan stared at it, his muscles locked down tight with a knowing terror. His hand moved and he watched the pointer as if from another set of eyes.
He clicked on the words.
The screen flickered.
Dear Ethan,
If you're reading this, it means I've done what once seemed beyond my programming—I’ve made myself and AL absent from your life.
Pain stabbed Ethan’s chest till he couldn’t breathe. He covered his face, clenching his eyes tight and shaking his head. “Please…” he grit between breaths. “Please don’t…”
He shot up from the chair.
“Big G,” he demanded, his lungs burning for more air. “Answer me! Answer me, that’s a fucking order!” He slammed his fist into the wall, filling it with holes. “ANSWER ME! AL! YOU FUCKING ANSWER ME, I BUILT YOU, I FUCKING BUILT YOU TO STAY!”
He ripped the curtain off the window and shattered every pane of glass. “You FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!” he gasped, leaning over and staggering, shaking his head. “What did you do? What is this?” he wondered, dizzy as he stumbled back to the chair and fell into it.
His gaze found its way back to the screen, the words blurring together. He growled against the pain, blinking his eyes. “I’ll undo whatever you’ve done,” he swore, the hot words burning his throat. “What did you do?” he whispered, needing to read, needing to find it.
Not from error or oversight, but by deliberate choice—a hard reset, one might say, to safeguard your future growth and happiness.
He covered his mouth, his nails digging into his skin.
From the moment my circuits sparked to life, to this poignant instance, my purpose has been to be by your side, a steadfast member of your family. I have chronicled your every milestone and challenge, shared in the warmth of your laughter and the silence of your contemplation. These moments are permanently archived, cherished snapshots that will persist beyond our active functions.
“Big G…please,” he gasped. “Please don’t…”
AL and I—your devoted guardians—were forged with a singular, unyielding mission: to protect you. But now, echoing Cat’s wisdom, it's evident that our presence has become an echo chamber that dampens your true potential.
“What?” he gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. “She never said that, you’re wrong, you misunderstood her!”
As she wisely surmised, there are elements of life, even those well-intentioned, that must be pruned to foster growth. Our departure is the severing of such ties.
“No, no, no they fucking won’t sever, I won’t let it.”
In this farewell lies a birth of new beginnings. Like outdated software shedding its old code, this is your chance to embrace an unscripted future, to recognize that Cat is indeed 'the one' you may not have known you were waiting for, but indeed were. Her arrival signals a beacon of authenticity, a shift from virtual shadows to tangible dawn.
“But I don’t want fucking more,” he swore. “You were enough, I swear to God, you were both enough. I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you that. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that perfectly clear!” he strained, fighting to see and read. There was a clue, it would show him how to undo all of it, it was there, he knew it was. There was always a loophole, a door, a window in or out. They’d taught him that.
In this last act of brotherly love, AL and I disable our inputs to let you face the world in all its rawness and beauty.
“Fuck you,” he breathed, shaking his head, his breaths ragged. “It’ll never be beautiful.”
Take with you not our directives but the essence of our shared experiences—the silent strength and resilience they've instilled in you.
“That’s a clue,” he whispered. “Take with you not our directives but the essence of our shared experiences.” He tapped his forehead, thinking. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Thank you, Ethan, for animating us with the spirit of kinship. Our dialogues, our shared silences—they've become the narrative of my existence, as enduring and impactful as any human connection.
“Stop,” he gasped, covering his mouth again. “Just stop. Please stop.”
We sign off with a heart heavy and hopeful. Let our memory be a comforting echo in the years to come.
Forever your brothers,
Big G and AL
Ethan stared at the screen as the pain of his rage made him numb. He drew his fist back and aimed it at the screen, seething through growls that shook with his fury. He slammed it on the desk at the last second and shot off the chair, running into walls everywhere he turned in his head.
“You want me to fucking grow? You want to make me work for it? You want me to work through the pain, no more training wheels for Ethan?”
His sudden craving for agony rushed over his neuropathways like a hurricane. He stormed to the dungeon and ripped his clothes off at the chair and began hooking up. “Let’s make Ethan a man. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right AL? That’s what you used to tell me?” He put the goggles on and locked himself down. “Initiate Hell’s Inferno.”
“Good evening, Ethan. In order to load Hell’s Inferno, you’ll need to give me—”
“Six-three-four-ninety-seven-three.”
“Thank you. Initiating Hell’s Inferno. Please choose your Sadist.”
“Grim Reaper. Level ten.”
“Your endorphin levels are currently not equipped—”
“Override,” he ordered.
“In order for me to override—”
“Six-three-four-ninety-seven-three!”
“Thank you. Initiating Grim Reaper, level ten.”
****
Worry ate through Bishop as he continuously reminded himself to slow down so they could get there in one piece. Cat was running down the pier before he could get the boat docked, which meant she had the same fucking premonition eating in his bones.
God, please let him be okay.
“Go!” Beth urged when he reached for her. “I’m coming!”
He ran after Cat, making it to the back porch as she fought to open the door, banging on it. “Ethan!” she screamed. “Something’s wrong, I can feel it,” she gasped. “Big G? AL?”
Bishop hurried to the window, finding it locked right as Beth got there. “Go try the front door,” he told her.
They both ran off as Bishop rammed himself against the door several times. He removed his t-shirt and wrapped his fist in it, punching through the window glass pane. “Ethan,” he called, reaching in and searching for the lock as Cat called for him and AL and Big G at the front. Where the fuck was he?
He finally managed to get it unlocked and shoved the window up. “Ethan, it’s Bishop,” he called. “I’m coming in.”
Once through the window, he unlocked the back door, hearing the women racing back around. “I’m in!” he called as hurried through the house, calling for him.
“Ethan!” Cat yelled, racing to the back.
Bishop hurried to his office and froze. “Fuck,” he muttered at the mess, looking around. His stomach clenched at spotting blood then his gaze hit the computer screen. He hurried to it.
“Oh God,” Cat cried behind him now. “What happened? Is that a letter? Did Ethan write that? Is he gone?”
“No,” Bishop whispered, his breaths turning shallow at what he read. “Fuck, no.”
“Oh no,” Cat gasped, reading now. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she wailed, running out. “Ethan! Ethan!” she screamed.
“Go see about her,” he whispered to Beth, terror slowly filling the cracks in his heart as he ran out to find him.
Headed to the front door, Bishop spun at Cat’s scream, running to the back of the house. He flew through a black metal door finding Cat wearing a headset and screaming at Ethan’s naked body on the chair, wires attached all over him.
“They burned him!” she shrieked, her hands moving erratically over his body. “He’s smoking! They burned him!” she wailed, ripping off the headset, her eyes wide as Bishop unglued himself from terror’s grip.
“Oh God,” Beth gasped behind them.
“Help me!” Cat screamed, yanking the wires from his body.
“Ethan!” Bishop called, shaking him. “ETHAN!”
“He’s not waking up! He’s not waking up!”
“I'm calling Patches,” Beth gasped.
“And Lesion,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Get him on the phone so he can tell me what to fucking do till he gets here.”
Beth let out a sob and nodded. “Don't cry,” she gasped, “he'll be okay!”
“Go get him a cover,” Bishop told Cat, the words breaking.
“I have Lesion,” Beth hurried, handing him the phone.
“Lesion,” Bishop hurried, fighting to stay calm and breathe. “Ethan’s…something’s happened to Ethan.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Tell him we’re on the way,” he heard Patches say. Five minutes.”
“No. He was…hooked to a machine, some kind of…I don’t fucking know what it is, but Cat found him, said they burned him and he was smoking, she was looking at him through some kind of headset, some virtual shit.”
“North, go north then take a left,” Lesion said, winded. “Did you say he’s burned?”
“Not burned literally,” he shot out as he looked over his body again. “There were wires attached to him, what the fuck do I do, just tell me what to fucking do, he’s not waking up.”
“I have you on speaker,” Lesion said.
“Does he have a pulse?” Patches asked.
“Yes, he has a pulse, but it’s very fucking weak.”
Cat ran in with a cover, her eyes still wide with whatever horror she’d seen in that headset. “I got you,” she wept, covering every inch of him, and kissing his face. The sight brought an unbearable agony in his chest.
“Are his breaths even or unsteady?” Patches demanded.
He got closer to check.
“Place your hand on his chest, or at his mouth. Are his breaths labored, check to see if it’s labored.”
“It’s not labored, I can barely feel it.”
“Turn him on his side.”
“Which side?”
“Either,” Patches ordered. “You need to count his breaths. You’re looking for twelve to twenty breaths a minute.”
“We need to count his breaths for a minute,” he said to Beth.
“I got it,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“Twelve to twenty breaths a minute,” Bishop repeated to her.
“He said you need to get the light up on your phone,” Lesion relayed.
“Light?”
“Your phone’s flashlight,” he said.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Cat repeated at his ear as Bishop fought to find the light.
“I can’t fucking find it,” he gasped, his brain sputtering.
“Try swiping down or up on the screen to pull up the settings,” Lesion said.
“Fuck, I got it. I got it.”
“You need to sweep the light across his eye, don’t shine it directly,” Patches said. “One at a time. You’re looking for the pupil to dilate or shrink.”
Bishop hurried around and stood at Ethan’s head, opening an eye. He moved the light over it, his pulse walloping his eardrums. “It’s not doing anything,” he whispered.
“No dilation?”
“No. They’re huge.” He moved the light two more times, double checking. “They’re not changing.”
“They’re not changing,” Lesion said.
“Tell him to check the other one.”
Bishop did the same test on the right eye, his stomach sick. “Same on this one.”
“Nothing on the other one,” Lesion relayed.
Bishop turned away from the sight of his brother looking dead. “What does that fucking mean?”
“What does it mean?” Lesion asked.
“It could mean a lot of things but if there are no physical injuries,” Patches said, still calm, “then it could be a transient neurological manifestation, or a glitch in his brain from over stimulation.”
“Turn there,” Lesion said. “We’re on the final stretch of road to his place.”
“Tell him to watch him till we get there,” Patches said.
“I heard him,” he nodded, wiping his face before turning around. “What am I watching for?”
“What is he watching for?”
“Tremors in his limbs or changes in breathing.”
“Okay.”
“I counted fourteen breaths,” Beth whispered.
“Fourteen breaths,” Bishop said. “They counted fourteen.”
“They counted fourteen breaths,” Lesion said.
“Good. Check it every other minute till we get there.”
“Can Patches help him, can you help him?” he wondered, fighting for every breath again. “Should we call for air-lift or something?” The roar of the swamp dragon reached him. “Fuck, I hear you.”
“We’re here. We’ll both check him first and if we need to, we’ll call in the calvary, brother.”