VOCOM

Chapter IXXX

By the time I reached my door, I was so exhausted from everything that I didn’t even care for whatever VOCOM had in store for me. I was just going to go inside and sleep. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t wake up, but knowing I would anyways, I decided my luck would be if I forgot about Quintley, Gala and Kortan. Maybe even VOCOM. But of course, such fortune didn’t exist for me; fate hated me in that way. Luck to me was something of chance. While I didn’t much believe in it, it was obvious that I was far more auspicious in means of simply surviving than actually getting to enjoy the minimal things in life, much less the grander, more joyous ones.

The house was empty. I stood in the room that once contained VOCOM, staring over the remains of wires, tubes, screens and the metal body that held her mainframe. Everything had been deactivated, abandoned and left for the worse. All of that crap was basically a giant tin can then. She had transferred absolutely everything to that android.

The only thing I found left by her that was any use to me was a folded piece of paper next to the picture that she and Quintley had both given me, all on top of Gala’s neatly-folded jacket. I gently grasped the picture and moved it aside. It was too painful to look at. But I found that as I moved that picture, another one was lying underneath it.

My parents smiled up at me, their hands on my twelve-year-old self’s shoulders. That photo had been taken fifteen years ago when I was twelve; a year before they were murdered. Benlark had never directly answered my question about it, and I was too tired to figure out his vague, discreet riddle of an answer.

“I killed them with their own fire!”

I sighed, placed the Trans Shooters down and slipped on the jacket, my thumbs going through the holes in the cuffs that Gala had worn in. I stared for the longest time at the ominous piece of paper that I wanted to burn without reading. I finally snatched it off the counter with a clutched fist and made my way into the den, plopping down on the couch and stretching out.

It was too quiet, even for me to relax. There was no buzzing, no quiet hum of machinery or bickering voices. Even the neighbor’s annoying dog was silent. I took a few minutes to just lie there, mostly because I was paralyzed and couldn’t move if I wanted to. I just didn’t have it in me. It was spent; every last ounce of my energy had been snuffed like dust disappearing in the wind. I kept the letter clutched in my fist, preparing myself for the worst.

The penmanship was remarkable, oddly since I had only seen the android write once before.

“Dearest Vera,

I will be lucky if you read this. You know that by now I’ve been predicting you, so I’m predicting you’ll eventually come home, see these photos, wear her jacket and read this letter. Assumptions just seem to be my thing. Anyways, I know you’ll do as I say because you always have, no matter how mad or miserable you were and are.

I’ve carefully picked my plan for the past year. I had everything set out and it went perfectly—asides from your friend’s intervention. But that’s alright; he turned to work in my favor as well. I probably sound like a selfish, cold bitch, and I probably am, but I’m not going to think about it because I still have one final task to get done.

I told you before only I could help you, and it’s true. So, since I know you’ll come to my little place, I’m giving you directions. You don’t need to bring anything except reminders—especially the Trans Shooters, photos and everything else you have of your past that you want to keep with you. Just do it, don’t question me.”

A smaller piece of paper that had been within the folds of the letter gave the directions she spoke of. I glanced at it, grimacing at the “Neotype Science Laboratories” scribbled across the top. I continued with the letter.