DAIMON

  Time moves with agonizing lethargy. But it’s still better than it used to be. I have new things to look at. New things to fixate on.

  I’m in some kind of garage, suspended by a crane over a repair pit. Gavin is moving back and forth, inspecting tools, putting them back down again. There are multiple shelves of knick knacks behind him, against the back wall. But at the moment he’s mostly focused on a table near the center of the room, sorting through and arranging the objects there. The lights on the ceiling give everything an eerie, greenish tinge. There’s a pervasive odor of rust, metal, and motor oil.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Gavin says, without looking up from his work. “That other Ruster, your lookalike. He was in the exact place you are now, not that long ago. He was in better shape, though.”

  I decide not to give him the satisfaction of responding. I don’t even look at him. There’s lots of other stuff in this room to keep me preoccupied, compared to my tiny cell, at least.

  “I thought you were supposed to be such a big shot,” Gavin says. “I thought you were the devil himself. Turns out you weren’t much of anything at all.”

  He has such a tough-guy voice. Even after everything. He’s failed, every step of the way. His entire community has turned on him. That’s part of why he can’t kill me, just yet. He needs me alive for what comes next. Just as I’d hoped.

  Not that I should hope. Hope gets you nowhere. Hope is a ladder with no rungs.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  There’s no point in trying to live or die. It’s all just a game.

  “They broke…so easily…” I say, after clearing my throat. It’s hard to breathe. To speak is herculean. “Like bugs…on a wall…”

  Gavin looks up at me. He palms something from off the table, then steps around the table, approaching me. He brushes back the hem of his jacket, revealing the handgun tucked inside his belt. I half expect him to pull the gun out and put a bullet in my face, right here. It wouldn’t be so unlike him.

  But no. He reaches into his pocket instead. Pulls out a glass phial with glowing green liquid inside.

  “Found these at the crash site of your ship,” Gavin says. “Been doing my best to analyze it. It’s some kind of power source, isn’t it? Some kind of Nanobit generator for your OS, is the best I can figure.

  He’s dead on the money. But I don’t say so. I don’t say anything at all.

  He shrugs, holding up the other thing he’d palmed; some kind of adapter. “I assume this normally connects directly into your socket. You’re not like the other Rusters. You’ve undergone some…alterations. You’re even more of a robot than the rest of them. You’re like a…Super Ruster, huh?”

  Gavin’s in an unusually good mood.

  I don’t like that. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t bode well for me.

  “If I give you some of this energy,” Gavin says, holding up the phial. “You’ll be able to start putting yourself back together. Which is what I want. I want you operational.”

  “That’s...thoughtful of you…”

  “I’m not finished. I want you just operational enough to put on a good show. That’s what this siphon is for. I’m going to give you just enough juice that the others will think you might win. And you’ll hope. That’s what this battery represents. Hope. For all of us. But it’s also a death warrant. For you.”

  Gavin clicks the adapter onto the end of the phial. He jams the end of the adapter into an open socket at my collarbone, so the phial itself juts out of my upper chest.

  The energy trickles in. Slowly. Painfully. Like tiny drops of water falling onto a dry, parched tongue. It’s almost more excruciating than having no energy intake at all.

  Gavin smiles, enjoying my visible discomfort. “Drink up, bud. Don’t worry your pretty little about it. It’ll all be over soon.”