Inga

The muzzle of the gun pressed into Redfern’s chin hurt. Hurt a lot, but it paled into insignificance compared to the implicit threat of the bullet in the gun. His guts felt watery and, as he looked up into the bland face of the bigger of the two abductors, he thought he might just shit his pants.

A Chicago man with the top of his head blown off and shit in his underpants was found earlier today….

He pulled himself together, the imagined news item steeling his resolve. He clenched his buttocks in an attempt to shut off the threat of imminent bowel emptying and tried to reason with his tormentor.

“Please, it’s not a problem at our end. It’s a problem with the feed...”

“That’s terrible news for you then,” said the big man, flicking the safety of his gun off.

“No! Please...”

“It’s nothing personal, you understand. Just close your eyes and it will be over in a second.”

Redfern opened his mouth to beg for his life when static burst from the speakers and the monitors flickered back to life. The viewing angle had changed. They were now looking up from the floor at the two men in the bedroom.

“My – My – My - Myfriend? Am I still pretty, M-M-M-My- f-f-f-friend?”

Molenski eyes widened with disbelief at the stuttering metallic voice behind him and jerked around, pointing his gun down at her. He soon realized that the robot was focused on Ivan and that her malfunctioning speech indicated she was no further threat.

“Oh, you’re still fucking going?” he said. “Well, you know what? Time to go night, night, bitch!”

The mob boss stepped up to her and then bent over her, placing his gun against her temple. He began to pull the trigger when a burst of pain exploded in his neck. Everything went black.

Ivan stood over his boss, his chest heaving. He quickly pocketed the gun he had struck Molenski with and rushed over to Inga.

“MyMyMyMyfriend?”

Ivan fell to his knees and grasped her hand, aware of the faint sound of sirens in the distance.

“I’m here Inga… can you stand up?”

“I am malfunctioning Myfriend, I need to go into safe mode and run a diagnostic check to scan for...”

“No! We have to get you out of here first. You can run your diagnostic check when we are in the car. Come, stand up!”

Inga didn’t argue and allowed him to help her to her feet even though he could see that she was quickly regaining her motor skills. He hoped she wouldn’t also regain her lust for killing.

“Wait here,” he said, before running into the walk-in robe.

Inga’s eyes fell on the unconscious body of Molenski and regarded him expressionlessly until Ivan returned with a jacket, a pair of slip-on shoes and a head scarf.

“Here, put these on,” he said, handing her the jacket as he went behind her.

“Is Dimitri Molenski terminated, Myfriend?”

“No, he is… sleeping. Hurry, put your jacket on.”

The wound on the back of her head was ugly, although the blood matted hair around it perhaps made it look worse than it was. After all, she was metal beneath her skin, and if she was still talking and operating, it meant the bullet hadn’t penetrated the delicate electronics beneath. He placed the scarf around her head, hiding the bullet hole, and tied it in a bow.

The sirens were much closer now, and as soon as she had put on the shoes, he ushered her out of the bedroom. He was about to follow her through the door when he spied Tatiana’s still packed suitcase. He retrieved it, then hurried Inga through the hallway and down the stairs to the ground floor.

Ivan remembered his instruction to Isabella, and when they reached the kitchen, he took Inga into the living room and paused at the top of the stairs to the lower levels. He put the suitcase down beside her.

“Wait here,” he said.

“Yes, Myfriend.”

He ran lightly back into the kitchen and around to the cupboard where he had discovered the Hispanic cook earlier. Remembering her carving knife, he stayed well back as he squatted by the island and knocked.

“It’s me.”

“Is it over?” she asked.

“Yes. I have to go, but you will be safe, the police are on the way.”

He began to walk out of the kitchen.

“Did you kill her?” the cook asked.

Ivan stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her.

“You don’t need to worry about her anymore. Goodbye Isabella.”

Isabella noted the hint of finality to his last words and wondered what had happened upstairs.

Ivan picked up the suitcase, grasped Inga’s hand, and they headed down the stairs. Her inhuman strength was more than evident from the carnage of her killing spree, and he knew that if she hadn’t wanted to, there was no way he could have compelled her to come with him.

Her puzzling change from killing mode was clearly the result of Molenski’s gunshots. It had damaged whatever was compelling her to kill, or both he and his boss would have been as dead as Tatiana by now.

Even more puzzling, was the question of what had made her go crazy and breach the hardwired programming of the Robotics’ laws.

There was no time to think about it now though; they had to get out. Ivan burst into the basement with Inga hot on his heels. Even though she was a machine, she was so quiet on her feet that he had to keep glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was still following him.

Ivan cursed. The Cadillac was still there, but it was switched off, and the door was open, the driver’s seat empty. He ran over and looked in; the keys were gone too.

He couldn’t blame the driver for fleeing, but that wouldn’t stop him giving him a kick in the ass if he ever got to see him again.

“Come,” he urged Inga and began running towards the lineup of beautiful cars that Molenski had collected. Beautiful but impractical cars for a stealthy getaway. He selected the least conspicuous vehicle in the collection, a gunmetal gray Dodge Challenger Hellcat.

“Quickly! Hop in.”

It was only after he had uttered the words that he thought how dumb the term ‘hop in’ was. Thankfully Inga’s vocabulary was sophisticated enough to understand that he didn’t mean it literally.

The big V8 rumbled to life instantly when Ivan started the car. There would be no warm up, and as soon as she had closed her door, he jammed the transmission into reverse, the tires squealing on the polished concrete as the car shot backward.

They were both forced back into their seats when he put the car into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. As he sped towards the way out, the daylight at the top of the ramp told him that the huge roller door was still open, but Ivan was driving so fast he nearly overshot the ramp. He managed at the last instant to make the turn, the heavy car fishtailing dangerously before the tires found traction. The low slung car bottomed out with a squeal of metal and sparks as it flew up the ramp and out onto the gravel driveway.

Ivan took a sneaky glance at his passenger. She was smiling, but her hands were gripping the dashboard.

He eased off the gas a little, but was still traveling at a dangerous speed on the granular surface, and the car slid out onto the lush turf of Molenski’s manicured lawn at the first turn. Ivan cursed and spun the wheel, bringing it back under control before he sped towards the front gate. Ivan could see no guards and assumed they had abandoned their posts to head inside when they heard the shooting.

Another turn and then ahead, the heavy wrought iron gates stood open. Ivan couldn’t believe his luck. Clearly, Molenski’s driver had been in too much of a hurry to shut the gates behind him when he fled the estate. He was on the straight and approaching the gates when they began to close.

“Fuck!”

Ivan gripped the wheel harder and pressed the accelerator.

“At this velocity, the gate will close before you reach it, Myfriend,” Inga observed.

“We’ll see,” he said, feeling strangely happy.

The speedometer ticked upward, and the engine of the muscle car roared. 50, 55, 60, 65. The car hit 70 as it reached the gate. Ivan held his breath. It would be a close thing. The heavy wrought iron gates would make a mess of the Hellcat if they didn’t make it, but it was too late to stop even if he had wanted to.

Inga sat, an impassive observer as Ivan sucked in a deep breath and drew in his shoulders as if that would help them squeeze through. There was an almighty screech of metal and breaking glass; the car shuddered but made it through, minus both side mirrors and a deep scrape of paint.

He swung right as the tires bit into the tarmac and sped off just as the first of the police cars turned onto the road from the other direction. Ivan slowed and watched his rearview mirror. The line of flashing lights pulled up sharply, some turning into the mansion’s drive and the others blocking the road in both directions.

Resisting the urge to go faster, Ivan drove at a stately pace until he turned left and joined the traffic heading into the city.

“Are you alright?” he asked, thinking his passenger would be traumatized by the hair-raising ride.

“No, Myfriend. My system is detecting errors that can only be rectified with a reboot. Shall I reboot?”

“No,” he said, quickly. “No need, I will contact someone. A technician… someone that can help us.”

“Us? Do you have system errors too, Myfriend?”

“What? No – never mind. I’ll make some calls. We’ll get you fixed.”

Ivan didn’t want to risk a reboot in case she turned back into the hard killer he had seen in operation just ten minutes before. He had no idea what had made her flip out and massacre Molenski’s people, but whatever it was, it seemed to have been nullified by the damage she had taken from the Russian’s gun. As confident as he was in his own abilities, Ivan didn’t think he would last more than a minute with Inga if she were determined to harm him.

He had other problems too, namely, Molenski. Now that he had time to think as he weaved through the heavy afternoon traffic, Ivan realized it had been a mistake to have left him alive. If the shoe had been on the other foot, the Russian would have blown his brains out in an instant.

The mob boss was notorious for his unrelenting pursuit of those who did him wrong, and Ivan had just bashed him unconscious and stolen his property. Very expensive property, and he wasn’t thinking about the car. Very likely, this whole mess would only end one of two ways, with him or Molenski dead.

Still, there would be time to worry about that later. Depending on how badly hurt Molenski was, and how much grief the cops gave him, it might be days before the hunt began.

“What about your wounds?” he asked Inga. “Do they hurt? I thought you could feel pain.”

“The sensitivity feature activated at 11:09 am and was overridden at 3:23 pm. However, the damage I sustained 7 minutes and 42 seconds later has caused my parts of my previous programming to restart. I feel some pain at this time.”

“I’m sorry your hurt, but what happened at 3:23? What made you…?”

She turned to him.

“I do not know, Myfriend.”

“Your wounds? Do we need a doctor?”

“RealFlesh is a patented nano-biological design that replicates real human flesh and is capable of regeneration if treated by a medically trained individual using sutures and antiseptic. Unlike real human skin, no scar tissue will form if wounds are treated within two hours.”

“Okay, we’ll get you fixed, but first I need to take care of something.”

Ivan had already decided they had to get out of the country. It was the only way to escape Molenski’s reach, and even then they would have to disappear completely. For that, they would need help, and they would find it on the Westside, his old stomping ground.

He had someone there who could help them. His first boss, Mateo Babic, a man Molenski had apprenticed too, for five years before buying him out. A man who Ivan trusted implicitly.

First, though, he had to ditch his phone and the car. Ivan pulled into a McDonald’s car park.

“Do you require sustenance, Myfriend?”

“What? No. I just need to do something quick. You don’t need to get out.”

Ivan parked and got out, dropping his smartphone on the concrete before smashing it under the heel of his patent leather shoe several times.

It was only when he picked it up and headed for the nearest trash bin that he noticed an old lady staring at him through the open window of her big 1970’s Pontiac.

He smiled sheepishly and held the shattered remains of the phone out for her to see.

“Stupid technology!” he said. “I can never get used to these damn things.”

“I hear ya,” she said, then went back to eating her chicken nuggets.

Ivan dropped it in the bin and dusted off his hands before climbing back in the Hellcat. The car would have to be ditched next. He knew just the place.