Clara Musk is the daughter of the new CEO of CyberLife. As androids show increasing signs of consciousness, Clara's father declares all androids are to be disassembled. Humans are ordered to stay indoors until the android threat is neutralised. But...
I scan the basement of the manor house. My lip twitches. It looks like Dr Charles King was some kind of mad scientist. And he liked to experiment with androids.
I walk over to a collection of chains in the corner of the room; they're just like the ones I broke out of minutes ago. I slowly bend down and dip my fingers into a small pool of blood. I lift my hand to my mouth.
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Clara. Confirmed.
I can't help but wonder what her reaction to this dark and gritty place was. Did her big, doe eyes widen with horror, or fascination?
I also start to wonder if she knows she's bleeding. If she knows she accidentally cut herself as she desperately sought out something to restrain me with before I reawakened.
Because if she doesn't... she's lead me right to her. Like Hansel and Gretel and the breadcrumbs. I just have to get to her before she finds a working telephone.
Lucky for me, the snowfall is cutting off most transport and phone reception for miles.
***
I watch her enter the motel. The old building has fallen into disrepair: crusty paint, dirty windows, missing letters on the unlit neon sign. Not a place for the elegant Clara Musk.
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She's soaked to the bone and shivering, an abundance of snowflakes trapped in her hair. I like the way it looks.
Clara scans her surroundings once, then enters.
I listen carefully to the conversation she has with the owner at the reception desk.
Clara: Do you have a working telephone?
Owner: 'fraid not. Snow's shut everything down.
Clara (whispering): Shit.
The corners of my lips twitch. Come on, Clara. Language.
Owner: But if you're stuck out here, I've got a few rooms spare.
Clara (quietly): I don't have any cash.
There's a moment of silence.
Owner: You're about my daughter's age. I wouldn't want her wandering the streets in these weather conditions.
Owner (handing over a key): Room 505. Top floor. If you need anything, I'll be right here all night.
Clara: I'll pay you back with interest as soon as I can.
Owner: No need. This place is never full. I think that old bed will be grateful to have someone in it. Just don't tell the other guests I let you in for free.
***
I bring the knife up to my right temple, then dig it in. The LED falls to the ground.
I straighten my tie, then proceed to enter the motel. Clara's finally fallen asleep after hours of anxious pacing in her tiny room.
I'm met with the owner. He's a short man with a moustache and glasses. A silver badge is pinned to his shirt; it reads BOBBY.
"Evening, Sir. What can I do for you?" Bobby asks, setting down a newspaper.
I confidently stride forward and lay a hand down on his desk. I tighten, then relax my grip.
"I believe my wife checked in to room 505 earlier today. I'd like a key."
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a/n More updates coming! ❄️ Huge thank you for all the support! We just hit 1k guys!
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