Shutdown Syntax - Chapter 8
If you are new to Shutdown Syntax, start from the beginning.
Note: This chapter includes violence and strong language, as the entire story does. If you are new and starting this story, please be aware of the potential triggers in a dark story as this.
Tim
Hands kept grabbing Tim, throwing him into a wall or a person. Ali, then his dad, then Ali again, heaving him through the apartment door, Vibro-FREAKING-Blade humming as a bot hovered near her, and by proxy his face. Even as Ali crushed him against the wall of the hallway, Tim’s stomach churned. He couldn’t quite get his hands over his head to protect it as another bit of a drone flew through the window, careening into the hallway.
“Need a plan,” Harry gasped like he’d run a mile, even though he was still moving like he was wading through sludge, coming to a slow stop at the wall next to them.
“Oh, now it’s all ‘we need a plan’, not when you know we have time to think! Not when I’m asking you freaking questions that should have clued you in that we needed a freaking plan!" Ali tried to reach for the door to pull it closed when something seemed to break through the wall of his dad's apartment.
“What the hell is happening?” Tim sidestepped Ali, backing towards the stairs, trying to duck and cover his ears. However, Ali crushed him against the wall… again.
“Presumably, someone is trying to kill your father.” She pulled him to his feet and nudged him down the hall with her as a buffer, dragging his father along as well. “Again.”
“Why do you have a freaking sword?” The burning in his throat made each word painful.
An extremely unhelpful giggle escaped Ali. “A VibroBlade is untraceable, unlike my Rail Gun. I’m sure you have a TON of questions. We all do. But we need to move first, ask questions later.”
What the hell could they do? Why the FUCK were those drones coming after them? Tim was coming apart at the seams. Which… near-death experiences can certainly have that effect on people. He just… couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and when he could, it felt like a cramp.
“There are drones everywhere!” Tim choked on the words.
“Get down,” Harry coughed on the words as a small drone came screaming at them. But Harry was moving slowly enough that Ali jumped on his back to push him down with Tim.
Abruptly, Ali let go and turned, standing in front of them as the small drone fell to the ground, dead. No VibroBlade this time to cut it down. Ali scooped up the drone and threw it behind her, possibly at his father.
"I blame you," she hissed, jabbing at Harry and swinging the Vibroblade haphazardly enough that it could take off someone's head.
Tim picked up the drone, which was small enough to be mistaken for a ball with arms.
Bots were… dangerous. As a child, when bots became commonplace and even people in their minuscule town of Emberfield started bringing them home, doomsayers continued to preach the dangers of bots, drones, and every other technological advancement. And there were plenty of instances to back up those worries.
Bots had broken bones in Tim's hand, his arm, and his feet. Mostly accidents that some people thought proved their ruminations. But Tim was never scared of bots.
They provided logic… were logic. Working on them was soothing. Even holding one grounded him.
Ali backed up, shooing them to the stairwell. All the noises from his father’s apartment stopped abruptly.
Tim swallowed, but there was nothing in his throat to swallow. He backed away, towing his father with him, eyes dry… unblinking…
“What the hell are we going to do?” Tim clutched his father harder, practically dragging him to the stairwell.
Ali
A dozen drones, at least, had been tracking Mr. G. He’d pissed off plenty of people in his time, but it takes something special to send this kind of money and arsenal his way. Whoever was handling all this needed something. Either something done to Mr. G… or…
The odd bulge of Mr. G’s FrankenLink… the way it was heating uncontrollably…
Sure, someone wanted something… but they also wanted him dead.
Which, admittedly, was also not a new thing.
Dots, indicating each of the drones, were dwindling. Blipping out of existence as, presumably, mostly Thumper took them out. Five drones left. But why weren’t they all attacking? The remaining drones were stationary, monitoring them.
Why? Why monitor… Oh.
Whoever that someone was, they needed confirmation.
The pain in her leg returned with fury, but she couldn't stop. However, only a few steps down, Ali realized she was going down alone. Mr. G remained at the top, whispering to Tim, trying to pry his son's fingers from his shoulder. His movements were achingly painful to watch. Slow. Time-lagged.
Treading lightly, Ali returned and took Tim’s elbow and removed the dead drone from his hand. “Hey, come on.” Mr. G winced as his son let go. “Tim? Can you look at me?” She moved to the step he was on, placing her hands on his shaking upper arms. Slowing her breath down, she caught his wandering, frantic gaze. His eyes settled on hers, and finally, he blinked. Ten years of piled-on emotion deepened the lines under his eyes, behind his glasses. Promises were a mistake. No cop—or PI, as Mr. G reminded her often—could keep promises. Still, she found herself saying, “I know we just met, Tim. But I am here, and I am going to keep you safe. Alright? Hey, look at me,” she had to catch his attention as another crash came from the hallway.
“I just…. Want to… go home.” Tim swallowed again, his eyes glassy.
“I will make sure you get home, Tim." One way or another. "Take a deep breath. I can see the drones, none—" Maybe not none. Some... Four, to be exact, were left. "—are doing anything offensively." As far as she could tell. "Thumper is… being Thumper." Hopefully, Tim found that reassuring. It wasn't usually a reassuring remark to make.
Slowly, Tim's breathing began to match hers.
Good. Staying alive usually meant staving off panic attacks until you were in a safe and, hopefully, fortified location.
Pushing Tim in front of her, Ali called back to Mr. G, “Does Mrs. Miyato still have Mr. Miyato’s old car?” Trying to ignore the ‘Battery Low’ symbol and the increasingly bright red flashing. She got the point, no using her IrisLink.
“No, Bernie has it in his shop.” Mr. G’s voice trailed behind them.
“Damn…” Ali stopped at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall, waiting for Mr. G. Ancient mildew and peeling wallpaper gave Mr. G’s building such charm, as if each step creaking ominously didn’t also add to the ambiance.
They both peered to the top of the stairs. Mr. G's motion stalled at the top of the stairs, his hand moving painstakingly slow, as he grabbed the railing. "I don't know what you're thinking, but don't even think about it, Alison!"
Benny, the angriest old man Ali had ever met, beat on the wall right next to Tim. Yelping and jumping away, Tim clutched his heart while Benny shouted for them to 'shut the hell up!'. Ali leaned across and pounded back, raining decaying wallpaper glue and dust. She didn't want to think too hard about what it could be made of or what diseases she could get from it. But her hand stayed planted on the wall, ready to beat it again.
The walls shook once more. Not from her or Benny's pounding. Ali braced herself with both hands, and more rumbling bubbled under her fingers. Explosions? Oh. OH!
“No,” Mr. G said preemptively.
“Yes,” Ali countered. “Thumper, leave two drones.” Mr. G clearly wanted to force her to stop, but she interrupted. “Well, what are you gonna do from the top of the stairs?” Ali shrugged. “You’re in the throes of NMDS.”
Tim pulled her back as Benny let loose another barrage on the wall, and a chunk of drywall came tumbling down. “What?” Tim asked shakily. He was trying valiantly not to hyperventilate.
“Overburn Syndrome? The way Mr. G was running too hot…?” She gently pried his hands off her. “He can’t run. His muscles and brain are completely out of sync. So…” She trailed off.
The decided lack of drones attacking them had her worried. There were three blips remaining. Why were they still… Ali swiped her hand, and behind the low battery notification, she finally saw the frequency graphs—a continuous thread of low-bandwidth frequencies that were similar to those used in cell phones and… detonators.
“Got it. His body running on overclock leads to damaged neural pathways.” Tim nodded. His breathing hadn’t slowed down, and his hands were held stiffly open.
Ali squeezed Tim's wrist, but directed her next comment at Mr. G, “You can’t run, so what else are we gonna do to get out of here?”
“You are already treading in shallow waters after the Walsh incident.”
“Oh, please!” Ali watched the feed. The two drones left were cycling frequencies, both using slightly different variations. Something was blocking their attempts at… well, she had a guess. Benny’s shouting rose to hysterics. “I’m already in trouble,” Ali continued, a smile forming. “What’s a little property damage…?”
“I said, no!” Mr. G had almost returned to them.
“Once Aalato hears what happened, it will be fine.” The drones were still hovering. Tim’s face changed for a split second. But it was gone with another barrage of dust and debris.
Thumper asked via her IrisLink: [Two threats detected still. Confirm request: Leave two drones.]
Ali swiped for confirmation. Did she program Thumper with reasoning? Or sarcasm.
[Really?] Thumper asked.
Lost in thought, Ali tossed the ball-like drone from hand to hand. If they were hovering, yes, she wanted them to just continue hovering. They knew Mr. G was still in the building. Collateral damage was obviously not a concern. They didn’t care that people were in this building. Mr. G met her stone-cold gaze. And placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, giving it an attempted comforting shake. “Or do you have a better idea?”
“Where’s your bot?” Tim snatched the ball drone mid-air. It caught her attention.
“Securing the perimeter.” A semi-lie, because he was done for now, and enough distraction for her to grab the ball back. She hadn’t given Thumper an order to come and meet her. She almost tossed the ball up instead of between her hands. A crack in the drone’s optical lens caught her attention. “Wonder how sensitive this thing’s sensors are.” It would be a reasonable basis for assessing the sensitivity of the other drones’ equipment. She turned the ball around, looking for markings.
"Like what?" Tim asked, his breath coming a little slower. Fascinating. He enjoyed discussing bots and drones?
“Details. I don’t know. Like, is it sensitive enough to detect different humans or just general human-sized things?”
Tim’s eyes narrowed. His breathing had somehow returned to normal. Duly noted. “Your modded link should tell you that. You running low?”
Ali's lack of an answer had Tim looking between her and his dad. Grabbing the ball from her, he pried a panel off with a tool from his pocket. "Can't believe either of you is still alive. You're both lunatics."
“At least you’ve calmed down,” Ali gave him a warm smile.
Tim
It was insane. No, they were insane! He might be ready to kill his father every time Harold Griffin opened his mouth, but… actually, it made perfect sense if other people were trying to kill him too. But how the fuck did he, Timothy Griffin, get wrapped up in this?
Every pry of the bot's casing, he swore internally, and that he would get the hell out of this freaking city. Buy a ticket home. Probably have to beg for his stupid job back.
Drones like this one were equipped with multiple power sources. The main battery would be kept safe, closer to the middle of the unit. Protected from jostling and, more importantly, puncture. Instead, Tim pulled the main flight battery and a wire since it had less protection around it. The battery wouldn’t be super secure, but he stripped and twisted the wires together, and again and…
Ali grinned.
“What?” Tim asked, almost snapping, but his voice shook too much to sound angry. At least he could breathe again.
“Anger I can work with.”
"May I?" Tim asked, though Ali flinched from his hand reaching toward her. Through gritted teeth, he added, "I want to get out of this fucking city alive." And away from her. And Harry. As soon as freaking possible. Reluctantly, Ali turned and allowed him access to her IrisLink. The battery itself was large enough to be a nuisance and too heavy to let it dangle. Ali tucked it into her shirt, presumably under her bra strap. At the same time, he strung the wire behind her ear and connected it gently to the charging port. "It's gonna be loose. You're gonna have to find a better charging station soon."
“Bernie,” Ali mumbled. “When we get the hell out of here.” She didn’t really seem comfortable meeting his eyes, but she did and whispered, “Thanks. That thing got any more battery power?”
“Yes,” he was afraid to ask more, but did. “Why?”
“I need a signal repeater. And to… borrow some stuff from Benny.”
Mr. G pursed his lips. “I hate everything about this, Alison.”
“Not exactly a fan that I have to do this either.” A predatory grin spread across Ali’s face. “But maybe you shouldn’t piss people off so much, Mr. G.”
Ali
“Thumper?” The comm signal with Thumper flickered in and out, weaker than Ali would have liked. Probably due to all the signals being tossed around by the drones, even with only two left. “Meet us behind Mr. G’s building in five minutes.”
It was all about timing. And the longer Ali stood there, the worse her timing would be, because Thumper would absolutely careen into Mr. G full force. Between the Overburn Syndrome and infected Frankenlink, Mr. G might not survive the collision, also for… other reasons.
The battery Tim connected only provided Ali with limited functionality. Still, it was enough to determine that these drones did not have facial recognition capabilities. They were likely tracking Mr. G based on either wi-fi probe requests or EM emissions. Something noninvasive. They might recognize the size of the person… but it only needed to work for a few seconds.
Her IrisLink continued the overlay from around Mr. G's apartment. As she bounced on the balls of her feet (the pain had dulled enough, or she was used to it by now), Ali scanned the street. Few cars in this neighborhood had recent mods. All were parked near desolate buildings. Two were close enough that she could dash(ish) to them. The ancient, boxy sedan, probably a depressing brown color, was the one she could make it to.
Earlier, Ali had given Benny two options. Hand over some rags and a spray paint can (she knew he had them), some tape, an extra coat, and a screwdriver, or deal with an even more pissed off Mrs. Miyato, who lived right across the hall from Benny, had a sweet spot for Ali, and still had her walker after her hip replacement last year. Not even Ali was dumb enough to piss off Mrs. Miyato. But if Ali raised her voice enough and Mrs. Miyato heard her, well, she could not be held responsible for Mrs. Miyato’s reaction.
God, she had to bite the bullet. Ali threw the door open, running with a slight hobble out into the streetlight. Praying the battery didn’t dislodge, the only thing keeping her IrisLink functioning enough to mask her own signal. Her hand wrapped in cloth and a screwdriver held firmly, Ali smashed the car's window, threw open the door, and realized now that this one had been parked here for so long that it was sure to have been picked apart under the hood. Too late to change now. The repeater blasted out a clone of Mr. G’s EM emissions… it was the best idea they could come up with.
Once inside the car, Ali popped the lighter, glowing orange, and lit the rag wrapped around the can.
Her IrisLink showed the two remaining drones moved away from Mr. G's windows. Ali stripped off the coat and slid out the passenger door, the car blocking her from the drones' view, but only if she stayed still. The drones moved faster than she'd hoped and were on the opposite side of the car. If she stood or even dove for the alley, the movement would attract the drones.
She counted the seconds, not sure how long it would take. Or how large the explosion would be.
A scraping sound against bricks caught her attention. Not the drones, thankfully. They were apparently still hovering over the car, bombarding it with an array of signals.
Ali didn’t hear it, but her IrisLink picked up a new sound. Faint. Low on the spectrum of information being displayed, but the only blip she’d seen.
Ok, screw them seeing her move.
She got up and ran to the closest alley between buildings. The windows blew out of the car, the explosion was barely seen, as the paint had been black. Alarms blared, from cars on the street and Sentinel, even the ones controlled by the Syndicate (which many were even on Mr. G's street).