Michelle Rowen - Countdown

I meant every single word. Somehow, I just hadn’t realized it before this moment.

His hands were shaking. “I can’t do it, Kira. I can’t do it. I can’t kill an innocent man. Even to save us. We’re going to lose.”

The deadly piece of metal fell from his grip.

“There are four minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

I pulled Rogan to me and hugged him tight. “It’s okay. This isn’t losing. If you’d done it, that would be losing to me.”

Bernard was fumbling around in his pockets. He let go of his shopping bag, and it hit the cement with a thud. Pieces of paper and old tissues fell out of his jacket pockets.

What was he looking for? His wallet? His ID? A piece of gum?

Then he pulled out a gun and raised it up to Rogan’s head.

When he smiled, there was something unnatural about it. “Other contestants have taken me out in less than ten minutes.”

Rogan tensed and swore under his breath as he let go of me, shoving me behind him. “I knew it.”

“You are supposed to be a remorseless murderer. I expected that you would have no problem at all with this level. She—” he nodded at me “—was the wild card. She’s not a murderer. It would have been interesting to see if she tried to stop you, but she didn’t.”

“I did,” I said as confusion slid through me over this unexpected turn of events. “I didn’t want him to kill you.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t put up much of a fight. He would have killed me, and you would not have stopped him. Unfortunately, Rogan Ellis is a coward. The Subscribers will be horribly disappointed. According to a recent poll, they had very high expectations that you would survive this level.”

Rogan eyed the gun. “Ask me if I give a shit what the Subscribers think.”

Bernard smiled that strange, steady smile. “It is fine. The Subscribers will be sated when I eliminate both of you for failing to complete the level successfully.” He moved the gun toward me. “Perhaps I will start with you, Kira Jordan.”

Rogan put an arm in front of me. “What are you?”

I frowned at his choice of words: What, instead of who.

Bernard’s head swiveled toward him. “I am highly surprised you don’t already know the answer to that, Rogan Ellis. I am an Ellipsis Cyber Drone, model number 6.1.”

What kind of an answer was that? What did that even mean?

“An Ellipsis Cyber Drone?” Rogan’s eyebrows shot up. “But—but how?”

“There have been many advancements made in artificial intelligence in recent years, Rogan Ellis,” Bernard said evenly. “I am only one of them.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, breathless, my hands raised in front of me, shaking. This was too much to understand—my head spun with confusion and frustration.

“He’s a robot,” Rogan growled without taking his eyes off Bernard. “With a very advanced artificial intelligence program. I knew there was something wrong, but I guess I just don’t trust my instincts anymore. Of course they wouldn’t make us kill a civilian.”

“Three minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

Bernard’s fake smile slipped back to reveal more of his bright white teeth. “Rogan Ellis, a murderer scheduled to be transferred to Saradone Maximum Security Prison in three days, could not bring himself to kill an Ellipsis Cyber Drone. For that, both of you shall be eliminated from the game.”

A cold line of perspiration slid down my spine.

The robot smirked, and suddenly I could see what he truly was. Before I’d been too much in shock to see that this guy didn’t look human after all. He was too shiny, too seamless. His eyes reflected no inner personality. His voice had a slight metallic tininess to it that reminded me of the computer countdown in my head.

“Rogan Ellis, willing to risk his life to compete on Countdown rather than go to prison. Did you fear it? Did you have nightmares of what might happen to you there? My database tells me that the scar on your face is from a fight with two of your roommates at St. Augustine’s. They wanted to kill you. Instead, you killed one of them with your bare hands. You are a killer.”

“You’re right,” Rogan growled, before flicking a look at me. “I am a killer. Don’t doubt it. And I’d kill that son of a bitch again if I got the chance.”

“Self-defense,” I whispered, my throat tight. “It’s different.”

“Didn’t feel different to me.”

“There are two minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

“You know what, robot?” Rogan said with zero emotion in his voice. “I still have two minutes left to reduce you to a pile of tin cans. You can’t kill us until after the level’s done, right? So, we still have time.”

The robot nodded with a firm jerk of his head. “This is true. I cannot kill you yet.”

He lowered the gun and pulled the trigger.

I fell to the ground, screaming and clutching my leg where the bullet had ripped into my upper right thigh.

“Kira!” Rogan roared.

“However,” the robot continued. “I can still entertain the Subscribers as we wait for the level to come to its conclusion.” He chambered another round. “Rogan Ellis, I would have believed that you would appreciate watching another young girl writhing around in agony before her inevitable death. Why do you look so unhappy?”

I could barely hear him. My leg was on fire, and it was all I could do to wrestle through the pain. For a moment, my vision went completely white. I couldn’t hear anything except the countdown, now at one minute.

One minute until there would be no more pain.

“59...58...57...”

Rogan rushed Bernard and grabbed his arms, wrestling him to the ground. The gun skittered across the pavement, coming to rest an arm’s reach away from me.

“Son of a bitch!” Rogan snarled as he pounded his fist into the robot’s face. Through my blurred vision I saw a glimmer of metal show beneath the artificial skin.

With a metallic roar, Bernard flipped Rogan onto his back, effortlessly pinning him to the ground. A viselike metal grip fastened around his neck.

“Do not fear, Rogan,” the robot said in an eerily calm voice. “It will all be over soon. You failed. You failed Kira Jordan and you failed yourself.”

“30...29...28...”

I reached out and wrapped my hand around the gun, and then staggered up on my left leg, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my right leg. Nausea nearly forced me back down to the ground. Swaying unsteadily, I somehow managed to stay upright. Bernard looked up at me from where he had Rogan pressed against the hard ground. I could see the robot underneath the skin. Just multicolored wires and smooth silver metal like the cameras that spun around the area taking in every angle of the scene. His skin must have been plastic. Just plastic.

All of it was fake.

I’d been ready to die to protect somebody who didn’t even exist.

“10...9...8...”

I raised the gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it was empty. I hoped it would be enough.

It was. It blew Bernard’s robot head clean off his body.

I dropped the gun, collapsed back to the ground, and let the pain wash over me. Rogan crawled to my side.

“Kira.” There was a red mark around his neck where the robot had almost choked him to death. “Are you okay?”

His hand clamped down on my thigh, attempting to slow the bleeding.

I tried to speak but found that I couldn’t form any words.

What I wanted to say was: Okay? Do I look okay to you?

Just before I passed out, I heard the voice in my head:

“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level three of Countdown.”