I swear, these late nights are going to be the death of me.
"Evan, turn off the lights," I called over my shoulder as I, still fully clothed, threw myself down into my bed, which had itself tucked snuggly into the wall. I hastily added a please, mostly as an afterthought.
"Goodnight, Lee," Evan's voice almost sounded bemused as it complied. All that remained now was the dim orange glow of the reading light about my head. I quietly shut it off and rolled onto my side beneath the thin blue blanket. It was a gift from my boss, who I very seriously wanted to punch in the face.
You see, I got this job a few years ago, courtesy of my father, Doctor Kian O'Connor, who I can thank for the privilege of trying out one of humanity's first proper AI assistants. It followed me around wherever I went and could connect to virtually any software I had the authorization to use.
I got the news in my third year of college, where I was studying history. I was always particularly good at history, you see, but my brother had definitely gotten the science genes of the family. I was standing in front of the large screen that had been provided with my dormitory, working on an essay about Old Earth, when I heard a knock at my door.
I groaned inwardly. It was late. I could see both of New Earth's moons in the sky peeking through my blinds. I really didn't want to speak to anyone at this hour.
Dismissing the screen with a nonchalant swipe of my hand, I begrudgingly turned towards the door and said, as clearly as possible: "Come in."
The door made a hissing noise as it slid to the side to reveal a stout little woman, her dark hair tied ridiculously taught into a bun. There was so much product keeping the stray hairs in place that her hair was shiny in an almost greasy looking way. She smiled at me, although it looked like more of a pained grimace with the tablet in her hand illuminating the greyish olive of her skin in the dark room. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and wispy. "Mister O'Connor, I presume? Aubrey Lee O'Connor?"
I nodded stiffly, taking a seat. "The one and only. How can I help you?"
She wordlessly handed me the tablet to reveal a video screen waiting for me. I would later learn her name to be Mrs. Lea Hawthorne, but at the moment I honestly didn't care. I was too preoccupied with her husband. This is where Evan would have sprung to life in all its holographic glory to spew facts about anything this man had ever done. Unfortunately, it hadn't been created yet.
The man in front of me bore a striking resemblance to a teacher I'd had back in elementary school. He'd been an ass. President Hawthorne had the same condescending smirk, the same narrow, sunken-in eyes, and, to top it all off, hair as greasy as his wife's. I vaguely wondered if he and his wife used the same gel.
"Aubrey," He said before backtracking with mock interest, "May I call you Aubrey?"
"I'd rather you didn--"
"Terrific," President Hawthorne interjected, leaning back in his chair and examining his fingernails pensively, "I have a proposition for you. You are aware I currently employ your father, yes?"
"Yes," I said. My father had complained about his job countless times before, but I wasn't about to say that to his boss. He turned to look at me, examining me with scrutinizing blue eyes.
"A very intelligent man. The best in his field," He said, "A position just opened up in our Non-Violent Crimes division. I was hoping I could employ your services. It pays well; you'd get Christmas off."
I paused. On one hand, having a means of income would be greatly appreciated. On the other, I wasn't sure a job in the government would be the best idea, given that in the eyes of the law, my existence in and of itself was a crime.
"What would I be doing?" I asked, trying my best to sound uninterested, nonchalant.
Hawthorne regarded me for a moment before answering. I was beginning to hate that.
"You would, of course, as the job title entails, be tasked with hunting fugitives whose crimes were non-violent in nature."
"I'll think about it," I'd told him, and I'd never forget the way he'd looked at me just then. Almost murderous.
"Very well," he'd replied, and the device was snatched away from me. I'd finished my essay with quite some effort and I hadn't slept that night.
I found myself facing the same troubles tonight. As it turned out, these "non-violent fugitives" my unit tracked down were people like me. The halfies and those protecting them. It caused an unpleasant churning in my stomach as I tossed and turned, anxiously and desperately attempting to fall into dreams, where I would either escape reality or be haunted by it.
As the sweet embrace of sleep tugged at the corners of my mind, my eyelids growing heavy at last, I was abruptly pulled upright.
"Lee," called a familiar voice. I sighed heavily, looking around for its source. Evan; of course it was Evan. Its holographic form stared back at me, unblinking in the darkness. "I sensed your distress. Might I suggest a quick dose?"
It gestured to the medical drawer of my desk, across the room. Its smile was artificially warm, welcoming, friendly. Although I knew it was only programmed that way. Ev-N243.
"No, thank you," I said, smiling back as genuinely as I could manage, "The doses only make the dreams worse."
"Understandable," It chimed, its hand hovering on my shoulder, although I felt nothing, "I only thought in your best interest, Lee."
"I know you did," I grumbled, cracking my neck.
"You do have a mission in the morning, Lee. Since you're awake, would you like me to review the case file for you?" Evan tilted its head slightly, looking almost hopeful. Its brows had furrowed in concentration.
Honestly, reviewing the case file was the last thing I wanted to do at the moment. It was bad enough that I had to listen to what these horrible people thought about us during the day; I didn't need them invading my personal life, too. Then again, I didn't have much of a personal life to begin with.
"Alright. Hit me," I said.
Evan smiled again. "Very well, Lee."
It then proceeded to read in a slightly unsettling monotone.
---
Case File 1,287: New London -- European sector.
Witnesses state they have spotted what appear to be halfies moving in and out of a house on the corner of Street 13 and Street 14. They appear to be accompanied by a unit of An'tarr.
Danger Level: IV
Notes: Please remember that although the An'tarr have a rating of only four out of ten strikes, they are prone to minor trickery through apparently magical means. Proceed with caution.
---
When Evan finished, it stared at me as though it expected me to give some sort of response to what it had just read. I didn't have a clue what it wanted me to say. 'Thank god I get to bring children to their deaths?' 'At least it isn't me lmao?' 'Boy, it sure is lucky we found the bastards.'
I eventually decided on a solemn: "Thank you, Evan."
It nodded. "Of course, Lee."
"I'll take the dose now," I said, swallowing thickly around the lump that had formed in my throat. I had to remember that Evan didn't really care about me. It genuinely wasn't capable of caring about me. It was a machine, a computer: no more, no less. It nodded again, phasing over to my desk and back faster than I could blink.
"As you know," Evan said, placing the cool metal of the needle against my vein, "This is going to hurt a little. Sweet dreams, Lee."
The last thing I noticed before drifting into my subconscious was the feel of a cold, lifeless hand brushing my bangs out my eyes.
---
My feet hit hard against the pavement below me, and I felt my trenchcoat being pulled back by the wind as I hurried through the streets of what appeared to be the Asian sector. I couldn't remember what I was running from, but I knew for certain my life depended on staying as far away from it as possible. I glanced over my shoulder as I rounded the corner into an alleyway. There they were, the hoverbikes, about a hundred feet behind me. Their flashing red and blue lights were a sight that left me almost trembling.
"Shit!" I cursed as my foot caught on something soft and I was sent tumbling to the ground. Despite myself, I spared the time to look.
I felt a scream being torn from my throat, although I couldn't recall making it. There, in front of me, was a face I knew all too well. I'd seen it in the mirror every morning since I could walk.
"Alize," I sobbed, rushing over to him. My brother's glasses were broken. They hung off one ear, the lenses cracked beyond repair. I set them right. "Alize, can you hear me? Say something!"
He was clutching his stomach. Oh God, his stomach. The white fabric of his button-up shirt had been soaked through with a deep red. I desperately felt for a pulse. Please. Please. No. If there is a God above, let my brother be alive.
Nothing.