“Hey fuckface.” Phil pointed the gun at the evil robot. “Remember me?” The robot turned with horror, unable to let go of his grip on Whisky’s throat. Phil pulled the trigger and a chink of the robot’s face flew off. He squeezed again and the robot fell away from Whisky, clutching at his neck. “Remember how I fucked you up?” Phil stepped forward and shot again and again. The robot reached out meekly and Phil kicked his hand away and stomped on his face. “Remember how you failed to kill me like sixteen fucking times?” He shot again and again and again. “Remember, you fuckhead? Do you?! Do you fucking remember!?” He spat on the limp body and fired off another shot.
He stared at his victim a moment longer before rushing back to Whisky. “Whiskers, get up dude. It’s over.” The robot didn’t move. “Hey Whiskers, come on man, the dirty fucker’s dead.” He stared down at his friend, sure that there would be a sign of life any moment. “Wake up, man!” His voice broke slightly. “Fuck!”
“I never knew you cared so much for a robot.” The sarcastic voice came from the other side of the room.
Phil had almost forgotten them. He raised his weapon and was half a thought from putting a bullet in Tank’s head. He was breathing erratically and spat as he yelled, “Shut the fuck up, you dirty cunt.”
The man mountain who stood next to Tank stepped forward to protect him, growling viscerally.
“Back the fuck up, Andre!”
“It’s OK Ricky, he’s out of bullets. Go collect the other gun from over in the corner.”
The blood drained from Phil’s face. He squeezed the trigger and it clicked impotently. His adrenaline rush was flushed from his body and he felt like crying. Walter was on his knees not far from Tank. His head hung low and his body looked defeated. The lady doctor was in the corner shaking and sobbing softly. He looked down at Whisky. The man lay peacefully still.
“Do you see your influence on this world Walter? Do you see what the world thinks of you? Do you see where you really stand in our society?”
Walter remained stagnate before nodding slightly.
“Look at your friends! People who loved and supported you. What have you led them to? Death and despair. The woman you love is nothing but an addict for your drug. She searched you out just to fill her own desperate void. When you couldn’t save her with your words and when you couldn’t satisfy her with your cock she went against all her goodwill and stuck you to the machine.”
“No! It wasn’t like that! Stop it Sammy!” Lucy shrieked.
“Stupid bitch was desperate. All she wanted was to be happy just like everyone else. She was perfect: beautiful, smart and weak.” Tank began to strut as he spoke. “Despite what you think Phil, I am a real doctor. I let Lucy believe she found me and that we were soul mates destined to build this machine together. But she only wanted to build the good half - the half that found Walter Wallace. I left her and it broke her heart. So soon after her precious father died, as well.”
Lucy wailed with sadness. She took out a flask of pale blue liquid and chugged on it.
“It’s too late Lucy. You are only frying the chemical receptors in your brain by overdosing. You can see the weak mental state she maintained. Desperate and sadder than ever she found herself an offer from a large conglomerate that promised to sponsor her machine but only if the second half was constructed. Like any business there needs to be money in it. Lucy thought maybe the TV contract would be enough to satisfy Citadel but she never knew the brains behind the operation was her ex-lover.
“It was all planned from the start, Walter. The only variable was which name would be shot out of that machine. Could I be sure that I could I take down the world’s happiest man? I wasn’t sure at firsy, but I always had your measure, from the moment we first met. Do you remember how we met, Walter?”
“Yes.” Walter said, speaking to the floor immediately in front of him.
“I was the man who you trusted. The one who offered you the contract. Were you so gullible? Or was it that you were so confident that you could trust your instinct?”
“No.” Walter shook his head softly. “Before that. You were the caller. William Unston.”
“What?” Phil’s brain rejected the idea like it was shit flavoured ice cream.
Tank smiled. “No.” he mused, “Are you sure?”
“You know not many people remember that phone call, Walter. I think just you and me – but it was just meant for us. I needed to know that I was right. Everything in the world suggested I was, but what if you were just what Lucy always wanted? But you proved yourself as nothing more than a genetic coincidence – that night when we spoke; you are irrelevant to the fate of the real world.”
“You can’t be Bill fucking Unston!” Phil spat. But he could not think of why not.
“It’s OK, Phil. You played your part and did it admirably. Your website was every success you could imagine – and just look: the towers are crumbling. We did it together.”
“We’re not so different in the end. You want to end corporate oppression to change the world; I simply want to expose the world to itself. People died for my cause, took their lives for it. How many did you save Walter?”
“It’s not his fucking job to save anyone.”
“Exactly!” Sam shot back, raising his voice with passion. “And yet he took it on and misled the world; accelerated the suffering. Those closest to him suffered the greatest. You, Officer Stevie, your dear friend Whisker.”
“Walter didn’t do it, though. You did it. You are just a terrorist. A sadist. You killed them. Walter don’t listen to him. This isn’t your fault!”
“It’s too late. It is already over. The building will fall on the fifth explosion. The machine is well stored and will not suffer a large amount of damage. The extraction process with Walter was never designed to satisfy demand, but we can synthesise the product with a willing and easily forgotten volunteer. We’ve already perfected the process thanks to Dr Blues’ expertise in the field. Citadel will bounce back as the reality of the terrorist attack sinks in. Bill Unston will be vilified; the late Walter Wallace hailed a hero and the world will take to his drug to help rebound from the depression. I’m sure the good doctor is the perfect example of where that will lead. This obsession with happiness will finally and rightfully be the end for humanity.”
“BRAVO!” a booming voice came from outside the room. “ENCORE!” The unknown man clapped enthusiastically, sarcastically. The clap stopped and a hollow thud accompanied his footsteps. Phil stared to the open doorway in anticipation, noticing that Tank looked with equal curiosity. He did not plan this.
“Sammy you have outdone even my wildest expectations! Myrtle would be so proud of your resourcefulness. I knew she was right to hire you.” A heavy set figure labouring on a crutch under his left armpit limped through the door. Phil recognised the man from TV. He had posted photos of him on BullCit. The man was his sworn enemy.
It was Boss Citadel.