Machine God: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (4 page)

“Go ahead and take it,” Konforma said.

This was a trick. There was no way they’d let me access a firearm. 

“What are you waiting for? Invitations don’t come twice around here.”

“Fine.”

I grabbed the pistol-ish device and felt its ergonomic grip making love to my palm. It looked like a modern hand cannon colored in sand tones, but bulkier than the usual pistols. I had never seen this model before.

Thankfully, Konforma cleared my fog.

“This is a Dust Viper 15mm. It’s a gas-operated, semi-automatic bolt-based handgun. It's perfect for short-to-midrange warfare. The Dust Viper is one of the finest firearms ever produced by the industrious men and women of our glorious Bulwark."

“It does have a nice feel to it.”

That was true. The grip fitted my hand perfectly. The dusty color gave it a desert touch, which fitted this desolate world. But what about the firepower? It was time to find out.

I fed the first ten bolt magazine to the metal baby. Konforma looked up at me with glowing eyes, and it wasn’t just because of her hyper resolution.

“You look like you used a Viper before.”

“I haven’t, but the handling does feel familiar.”

She nodded and didn’t seem to be bothered about me using a loaded gun.

“Why are you letting me access a firearm?”

“I already told you, doofus. This is an assessment, which incorporates a variety of challenges.”

I pointed the 15mm at the girl's forehead.

“What if I send a bullet through your pretty little nose bridge?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Looked like she finally showed fear.

“Why not?” I said.

“Because shooting a hologram is a waste of our resources.”

Konforma kept her pokerface. Flinch-less.

“Please enter the shooting range and show us your skills.”

That’s when I realized the new hall harbored dozens of house replicas.

They formed a fake town ready for my shooting pleasure.

“Take the second mag with you and proceed to the shooting stage. You have a total of twenty rounds for the course, so aim carefully.” 

She waved me over when my eyes caught movement behind the house windows.

“Who are they?”

“Test dummies that will behave like desert soldiers. Your goal is to take them out in the fastest way possible. You can have a test shooting prior to the course.”

“I won’t need it.”

I didn’t know why I said it, but confidence filled my body the second I stepped into this training center. A starting signal projected into the air above Konforma. With my back against the wall, I peeked around the corner and noticed the first mechanical puppet jumping from his cover.

I aimed and fired.

The bullet entered the target’s face shield and brought the sucker down. 

This was fun.

I proceeded toward the next cover spot, a dumpster, and repeated the shooting spiel. Two attackers appeared on the other side of the fake alley wall. The second they aimed at my direction, I greeted them with two well-placed bolts.

This gun was remarkable. 

Little to no recoil. Striking accuracy. 

The bolts carried enough force to throw over the hostile with one shot. I kept the gun on single-fire mode because of my ammo shortage. Besides, my abductors seemed to be obsessed about resource management.

So I shot responsibly.

Halfway across the scenario, I spotted a sharpshooter behind the right window on the third floor. The puppet noticed me and pulled the trigger. His bullet impacted the wall space a meter from my face and shredded the concrete. Little pieces pounded my left cheek. My body yanked away and pushed against the wall for maximum cover. I swallowed and looked at Konforma who stood next to me.

“Are they using live ammo?”

She shrugged.

“Do you want to find out?”

“Nope.”

I ducked behind the corner, rolled around and aimed at the far away snipers where I remembered them.

“Pretty good maximum shooting range for a little pistol.”

“The snipers are only thirty-five meters away. So don’t pat yourself just yet.”

Another shot rang through the air, this one not coming from me. The bullet passed by my cheek and missed by a finger length. I rolled sideways, detected the shooter on the window to the left and greeted him with a headshot. 

Win.

But now, I was down to my last mag.

“How am I doing so far?”

“Be silent and shoot.”

“Yes, missus.”

She ignored my last statement and disappeared again. I jolted forward, leaped from cover to cover and brought down one target after another without getting shot once. The digital finishing line lurked ten meters in front, and my heart sang.

But then something shot from the ground and caught me off-guard. I evaded to the left and looked at the metallic crab or whatever the heck it was.

The ammo counter on my Dust Viper 15mm showed two remaining bolts. I aimed at the thing’s legs but the creature wouldn’t react. It released some kind of organic net that ripped through the air and whirled around my arm.

What the?

A sparkling sensation tore through my body and brought me down. My body shivered uncontrollably till Konforma walked up to me and looked down. Her face remained neutral.

“You’re dead.”

She put on a sad face but it looked fake.

Her tiny index finger touched her thumb.

“Bummer. You were a finger tip away from reaching the finishing line.”

“That isn’t fair. I shot down every target when that thing appeared out of nowhere.”

“It didn’t appear out of nowhere. It lurked under the rubble, waiting for its prey. And you fell for it. Biiig time.”

My mind tried to compute the situation.

“What the heck was that anyways?”

My head spun around but the thing was gone. It vanished behind the fake walls of an adjacent building. Konforma watched me with partial interest.

“Life in the Lost Lands is dangerous. You must be ready for every surprise.”

I moved back up and stretched my arms.

“What now?”

She led me away from the shooting scenario, into the nearby room that seemed to be a copycat of the first.

“Your first assessment is finished for today. The second and final one will be held once we have evaluated today’s performance.”

“That was quick.”

“Don’t fall into hubris. It’s a waste—“

“—of resources, I get it.”

The slide door opened up and the iron lady walked in, followed by her favorite soldiers. She clapped in a melodramatic way.

“I must say I’m semi-impressed. For a starving survivor, you’ve put up quite the performance.”

“Survival is a good motivator."

“Imagine how you could use all that raw talent for the greater good. The possibilities are endless.”

I realized I still possessed the Viper. Firmly gripped in my right hand, still harboring one round. The iron lady must have realized that too, but she didn’t seem to care. 

At all.

“We’ll return you to your cell. You will wait for your result and we’ll take it from there.”

“I don’t really want to go back. I like it here—it’s much more spacious.”

“You don’t have the right to make that request.” 

I held up my gun and pointed my 15mm at her face. Even her soldiers didn’t see that coming and needed a tenth of a second to follow up with their rifles. Meanwhile, the woman stayed frosted. Her eyes didn’t even blink once.

“That would be a foolish decision.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given your prisoner a 15mm with two mags.”

“Do you think we give someone like you a firearm without taking precautions?”

No, they wouldn’t. Not with their freakish security obsession. But this was a real 15mm with live ammo. 

“I dare you to pull the trigger,” she said.

“Maybe I will.”

“Drop the ‘maybe’. Half-assed commitments don’t serve the community.”

This woman had serious spunk for someone standing on the wrong side of the barrel.

“You doubt I’d pull the trigger?”

“I doubt this moment will last.”

She was right about that.

So I squeezed.

13

“Maybe you should squeeze a little harder,” the iron lady said with her righteous grin.

My finger pulled the trigger again, but the bolt chilled inside the chamber. A faint smile painted the woman’s face. She knew about this right from the get-go. 

Of course she did.

“Tell me when you’re finished. We’d like to keep the firearm for future use.”

I had to admit defeat. How could I believe they’d give me a gun that I could use against them? 

Foolish me. 

I flipped around the firearm and handed over its butt. She tucked the gun away and turned around, together with her armored guards.

“Now would you please follow us to your cell? We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

A defeated sigh escaped my lips. I followed them back into the lift with slumped shoulders. The lady looked up her datapad and switched her expression from loathing to amusement.

“We’re in the middle of the evaluation, but you've delivered quite the performance."

She paused.

“We actually have three different tests, determining which class you’ll be suitable for. But thanks to the fireteam’s invaluable feedback, we started with the soldier test first. Much to our pleasing, I must say.”

“I’m glad you’ve found me useful.”

“That’s still not decided. But you’ve been granted a few more days to live.” 

“How generous.”

The soldier in the back nudged me with his plated elbow. I turned around to him and watched his face shield with the freaky eye symbol.

“A simple ‘watch your tongue’ would have sufficed.”

The iron lady sighed.

“You still have much to learn. Especially how to properly address your superiors.”

I shrugged. This place had so many rules and quirks, it would have taken half a lifetime to figure them out.

The elevator halted. The doors slid open. I was back in ‘my’ old corridor, left with the same needs.

“By the way, can I finally have my glass of water?”

14

Home sweaty home.

The soldiers pushed me back into the prison cell, AKA the claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. The iron lady and her passive-aggressive watchdogs finally left me alone. Which meant: empty steel walls staring back at me, but at least I had enough exercise today to keep my body in shape. I sat down on the middle of my bunk bed and closed my eyes. 

Reviewed the events of today.

What an absurd sequence of silliness.

First there was quirky little Konforma, a holo-girl in a military world. 

What a weird choice for the Bulwark’s mascot. Maybe the committee thought a bit of pink could color up this craphole of a cluster.

Well, it didn't work.

Then came the obstacle course, which I seemed to dominate without prior experience.

And then the shooting range, and that robot creature that unleashed its projected whip after me and ‘killed’ my score. Seriously, every time I thought this place couldn’t get any crazier, something nutty happened and threw me back into bewilderment.

Bulwark Cluster?

What exactly are you?

One fine day in the near future, I’d find out.

But now, with no glass of water and no food in sight, I quieted my mind. Focused on my breath and prepared for another extended period in solitary confinement. 

But this time, it was different.

15

Konforma's voice beeped inside my cell.

“Yay, you know who’s talking?”

“My favorite assessment torturer.”

“Please watch your tongue. Torturer is an inaccurate description of my role, especially when served with your micro-aggression.”

She didn’t sound aggravated, so I wondered why she bothered to defend herself. Was she even capable of feeling anger?

“Anyways, I have important news to share.”

“Now you’re making me curious.”

The wall opposite of my bed glowed. The surface transformed into a color fest.

This wasn’t your average prison block.

This was a fully-fledged wall-screen.

Big, white letters appeared in the center, surrounded by flickering stars.

“Yay, you have made it. You’re a citizen of the Bulwark Cluster.”

2D pictures of Konforma clapping appeared under the headline. Reminiscent of old cartoons from the Far East. And yet, my excitement remained low-key. 

“That’s great, considering I didn’t even apply for citizenship.”

“Participating in our assessment test counts as application.”

I nodded and kept the witty one-liner to myself. Maybe my new life as a citizen would allow me some free space, and hopefully some food and water.

“However,” Konforma said, “your citizenship ranking is at the bottom. Which means you don’t have any privilege.”

“Too bad.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Just because you’re on the bottom doesn’t mean you’re useless.”

“Makes sense.”

Konforma stretched her arms into an arch. Menus of different colors popped up around her.

“Please check your privilege.”

“I thought I didn't have any."

“You have a couple. For example, you have the privilege to breathe the air from our life support system. You have the privilege to restricted speech. And as of now, you’ve got the right to lie down on your bed for up to six hours without getting electro-shocked.”

“If that’s not paradise, what is?”

“You, however, don’t have the right for improper speech. Which is why I just subtracted the right for offensive rants.”

“You gotta be kidding me."

“Nope. You should watch your mouth, it seems to be a breeding ground for insults.”

I walked up to the wall-screen—the menu read ‘Permission Protocol’.

Underneath appeared a thousand rights, listed in categories such as ‘speech’, ‘recreation’, ‘consumption’, ‘arms’ and many other taps. 99% of them were grayed out with an empty checkbox to their left.

“How do I unlock these rights?”

“Now you’re being productive. Hooray.”