Metromania. 08:11 AM.

  That morning could not be more tense. The streets were filled with soldiers and heavy armored vehicles of all kinds. People raised their guns and hid across the city. Everyone was waiting for the first bullet.

  One message arrived on every phone at the exact same time.

  ‘CIVIL CODE RED - ALL CELLS GO LIVE.’

  Everyone flinched. They loaded magazines with shaking hands and told themselves fear was just another kind of fuel. It was time. The resistance attacked military vehicles from every corner. Balconies, windows, even the sewers were filled with fighters, all aiming at the giant green hovering cars.

  The army tried to fire back, but they were ambushed. The wide spread of the resistance was something they never trained for. That was the power of guerrilla tactics. The soldiers were equipped with far more advanced technology. Red visors, similar to the E-UNIT HUD, slid over their faces and highlighted every shooter in range, they were linked to the city’s cameras. Every muzzle flash wrote a name. The soldiers opened fire immediately.

  Bodies started falling one by one. Balconies were painted red, blood dripping like rain onto the pavement below. The resistance changed tactics instantly.

  Every rooftop now held a few members carrying heavier weapons. RPGs, heat seeking rocket launchers, and anti-mech mini launchers. All aimed downward at the soldiers. A message arrived on the rocket teams’ devices.

  ‘Rain them down.’

  The soldiers froze. The gunfire suddenly stopped.

  BOOM.

  A heavy armored vehicle exploded, sending five soldiers to meet their creator. The blast was so loud that nearby windows shattered. Some soldiers ran while burning. Support teams rushed in with bandages and fire extinguishers, trying to put out the flames.

  It did not stop.

  Explosion after explosion. Vehicles were destroyed. Soldiers were thrown into the air, body parts scattered everywhere. It was a civil war against the system.

  Helicopters and drones were deployed immediately. Snipers began targeting rooftop attackers, picking them off one by one. From above, they had nowhere to hide. Drones moved in silently, deadly and precise.

  Another message spread across resistance devices.

  ‘Relocate assets.’

  Drones started falling from the sky. Rooftop teams activated small telecommunications towers. Some drones shut down. Others changed course and slammed directly into helicopter rotors.

  Helicopters began falling, one after another. Soldiers jumped out with parachutes, aiming their weapons toward the rooftops as they descended. Balcony shooters returned and fired at the falling soldiers. Dead bodies drifted slowly toward the asphalt.

  Then the captains received permission.

  The green light.

  Every soldier pulled back and took cover. The resistance was shocked by the sudden retreat. Fighters moved down into the streets, advancing carefully.

  A fatal mistake.

  Mechs carrying massive sonic weapons landed across the roads, cracking the asphalt beneath them. They arrived like punctuation, ending the sentence the city was trying to speak. Without hesitation, they fired.

  Sonic waves tore through the streets. Normally, sonic weapons were silent. These were not. The sound was unbearable. The mech pilots wore special headsets that blocked the noise.

  The resistance collapsed in agony. Noses bled. People screamed, but their screams could not be heard. The sonic waves drowned everything. Vision warped. Knees stopped obeying.

  The vibrations were so intense that trash and debris were pulled toward the mechs as their internal fans spun at extreme speed.

  A news helicopter tried to approach. Even at that distance, the pilot felt dizzy and retreated immediately. What the people on the ground experienced was far worse.

  The mechs stopped firing and moved on to other districts, leaving behind a street full of bodies that were alive enough to suffer and broken enough to remember. A few seconds were enough to crush the attack on that street.

  Cameras hovered at a safe distance. News feeds zoomed in until faces filled the screen, blood at the nose, eyes unfocused, hands clawing at pavement that no longer felt real. People turned off their TVs. The images were unbearable.

  And everyone understood the message. It was a demonstration.

  The war was already over.

  The Hope Bubble. 09:00 AM.

  “Did you see why I don’t trust him now?” Reaper said as he walked through the main garden.

  “Yes,” Omega replied weakly. “And to be honest, I partly knew the truth. I just didn’t expect him to be that direct about it. I still hoped that one day he would…”

  “Never rely on another person’s good side,” Reaper said, watching E-Medics clear the path ahead. “You never know if someone is wearing a mask, or if they can change over time.”

  “Do you think that way about me too?” Omega stopped walking.

  Reaper exhaled, even though he had no mouth. “If I say no, and that is the truth, you might exploit my trust to the extreme.”

  Omega chuckled and took a few steps ahead, turning slightly toward her brother. Her hair moved with the motion, making the garden feel even more alive. “Yes. Is that bad?”

  Reaper shook his head and continued walking. “I guess you are the only one allowed to. You really put that cute face to work.”

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  “I just know your weak spots,” Omega replied, catching up to him.

  “What are they?”

  “The magician never tells his secrets.”

  “Please, just one. I never thought I would beg this much.”

  Her smile widened. “Since you are clearly on your knees, crying and pleading…”

  “When did I do that?” Reaper interrupted. “I literally can’t cry.”

  Omega continued, “Your weakness is your logic itself.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “You believe that everyone who suffers deserves help,” she said calmly. “And they don’t. Me, and many lives trapped in this city, are just as bad as Tamer himself. Maybe worse.” She extended her hands. “These hands tasted more blood than anything else. I am not clean. I don’t deserve your protection. But the moment you accepted me as Omega, something changed.”

  Reaper laughed. A sharp, unhinged laugh echoed through the garden.

  “Hey!” Omega snapped. “Be gentle!”

  He threw an arm around her shoulders. “That’s hilarious.”

  “What is?”

  “The way you think,” Reaper said. “This isn’t about who deserves what. You need to believe in relativity. For you, blood is a sin. For me, it’s duty. Or self defense. Someone has to do the dirty work. If police officers are never lethal, no one will respect the law. They will see it as a joke.”

  He gestured toward the people around them. “Not everyone has someone to do the dirty work for them. Most people have to do it themselves. That’s why many look evil. They’re not. They’re survivors, in a world full of survivors.”

  “That doesn’t justify it.”

  “According to who?” Reaper replied. “To me, you’re as innocent as a baby monkey.”

  “You really love that insult.”

  “It fits you.” He stopped walking. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. There are far worse people than you think. Some are so evil it feels unreal. Your story is simple. A girl was given a sword and told to fight the monsters of this planet.”

  Omega stared at him. Even she had never understood herself that clearly.

  “Even if I erased an entire army?”

  “Okay,” Reaper said. “That part is debatable.”

  “Hey!”

  “Just kidding,” he laughed, continuing forward. “Most people out there didn’t do half of what Tamer did. Some are sacrificing themselves, protesting for a better future. Not just for them, but for everyone. They deserve saving. At least to me.”

  He sat on a nearby bench and released her shoulder.

  “So, are you satisfied, drama queen? You really love it when I give you attention.”

  “Stop making it obvious,” she rolled her eyes and joined him. “But don’t ever stop. Or I’ll spread fake stories about you to the E-Medic team.”

  “Please don’t. They already hate me for no reason.”

  “There is a reason,” an E-Medic said, trembling beside him.

  Reaper turned. “Why?”

  “Look at your silhouette, sir,” E?Medic M18 whispered. “You look like the end of a story.”

  “Oh come on,” Reaper raised his hands. “You didn’t come here just to roast me.”

  “Correct,” M18 said quietly. “Sharp like a demon.”

  “What does that even—”

  “Anyway,” M18 cut him off. “Father is calling you. The situation in the city is declining fast. Tamer opened fire on civilians.”

  Reaper and Omega stood up instantly.

  “What?” they said together.

  They rushed into the office. Nick stood frozen in front of the giant screen. They joined him, watching the massacre unfold.

  “Oh my god…” Omega whispered. “This is…”

  “…Worse than I thought,” Reaper finished. He turned to Nick. “I’m going out. We end this now.”

  “No,” Nick said flatly. “Not without a plan. If you step out there raw, Tamer will bait you into civilian casualties and brand you the monster again.”

  “You don’t have authority over me.”

  “I made you.”

  “Not enough,” Reaper replied. “You made this mess too. Are you ready to fix it?”

  “I literally made you,” Nick stepped closer. “This is too dangerous to go alone—”

  “I will join him,” Omega cut in.

  Nick let out a quiet laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. It’s time to end this joke. Do you trust me?”

  “I do,” Nick said. “Always. But this is a city full of civilians.”

  “That’s the problem,” Reaper replied. “The civilians you fear are already being targeted. It’s now or never, creator.”

  “And we are not alone,” Omega added.

  Shell 101 entered the room.

  “Shelly!” Reaper jumped and lifted her up.

  “You know that’s literally me, right?” Omega and Shelly said together.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Reaper replied. “You’re better.”

  “We are the same person!” Shelly shouted.

  “Sure,” Reaper said, placing her on his shoulder.

  Nick smiled, then collapsed into his chair, covering his face.

  “I just don’t want to lose this again…”

  Reaper finally understood him. He looked at Shelly, Omega, the pink E-Medics.

  “Don’t worry, father. We’ll come back. I swear on my motherboard.”

  “What does that even mean?” Nick snapped, then laughed. He realized Reaper called him father for the first time. “Okay then, since you already made up your mind, and I believe in robot freedom of decision making, please comeback in a state I can repair.”

  Shelly and Omega smiled.

  Reaper approached his creator. “You won’t need to. I’ll protect her with my life. I see why you love your creation.” Reaper straightened and turned to Omega. “Let’s show them why we are father’s best creation.”

  IB Head Director Office. 09:27 AM.

  He sat alone in his office, holding the picture. Jacob never forgave himself for what he did. He stared at it for far too long. Twenty-four years of regret that had never healed.

  “You never change, Jacob.” A familiar voice came from the doorway. Tamer stood there with four soldiers behind him. “That pose alone, holding a traitor’s picture, sums you up perfectly.”

  Jacob did not lift his eyes from the photo. “I see that both sides still have traitors.”

  “Precisely.” Tamer walked in and sat on the guest chair. “Why, Jacob? We were building something special. I thought giving you a chance would benefit both of us. Why are you still holding onto a dead man’s dream?”

  “He might be dead,” Jacob said, his voice almost breaking. “But his dream will live long after him. His dream was not selfish, unlike some dictators believe.”

  “You have lost it.” Tamer stood up slowly. “Even if you had a different opinion, pointing a gun at someone far more powerful is suicidal. Why did you send IB agents to protect that monster?”

  “It might be suicidal,” Jacob replied, “but it was never cowardice. I had an idea, and I will chase it until it succeeds. And I will make sure it survives even after me.”

  “So you already planted the seeds.” Tamer inspected the furniture, rubbing dust between his fingers with clear disgust. “Now I see why Mikael chose you as his second in command.”

  “And now I see why he fought you and your ideology,” Jacob said, finally standing up. “People lost hope, Tamer. They have never been this broken. Your way of ruling this country spilled more blood than the E-UNIT ever did. And most of it belonged to innocent people fighting for freedom.”

  “Correction.” Tamer placed his hands behind his back. “They were traitors, just like that dead man whose picture you stare at every day. And I will make sure everyone who thinks like this joins him in hell.”

  Jacob laughed, dry and tired. “There is no way you believe your own words. I see why you hate him so much. His influence. The love people had for him. The success he achieved alone against a rotten system. That was your dream. But he lived it before you killed him. You will never reach his status.”

  Tamer sat back down. “Being six feet under is not the kind of status I want.”

  Jacob restrained himself from drawing his pistol. “The military is the worst virus this country suffers from. But don’t worry. This country is not a weak body that gives up after the first infection. We will achieve democracy again. And we already have the tools.”

  “That robot will be destroyed along with your insane dream,” Tamer replied coldly. “And that is the only reason I kept you alive. I want you to watch your so-called hero fall apart. I want to see that look of regret. ‘Mikael, I’m sorry.’ But you are too dangerous to keep.” Tamer raised his hand. The soldiers aimed their pistols.

  Jacob understood immediately. “I see. A fake suicide.”

  “Tell Mikael you died for nothing,” Tamer said calmly. “His blue girls are all rusting in a bunker. A perfect proof of how unreal his dream was.”

  Jacob smiled. “I love how shaken you are. When someone spills blood uncontrollably, it means they are losing their iron grip. And believe me, you will soon feel an iron fist hit your face. The black robot will shake your house of cards, and you will fall from the top.”

  Tamer’s jaw tightened. He gestured.

  Jacob glanced at the photo one last time. “I’m sorry,” he whispered

  BANG!

  The bullet tore through Jacob. Blood mist hit Tamer’s cheek like rain.

  “How annoying,” he said flatly. “Some bugs just never know when to stop.” He turned to the soldiers. “Write the report: ‘Suicide.’ Make it clean.”