Anon Buys a Rapedroid (Part V)

	Skulking home through the thinning rain, Anon weighed his options for finding Holly. The shop owner was barely helpful, he at least knew now that whatever had happened was not Holly’s fault, but his rather brusque dismissal of any further assistance was not surprising. He had, after all, assaulted him, though that was besides the issue. Keeping his eye to the grey squares beneath him, following the concrete pathway home, he started to make a mental note of all possible places she could be. He knew full well there was a thriving illicit market for robot parts of any kind, and a modern robot, in a condition as good as hers no less, would be an attractive find for any alleyway scavenger. He could only hope and pray some kind soul had retrieved her and charged her, maybe even inquired as to her owner. Even if she had been taken in by some good samaritan that would still leave the issue of getting her back, which itself spelled a myriad of troubles for him: her rapey tendencies, reintegrating her into life at the apartment after what ‘she’ did, and gaining the trust of whoever had her enough to get her back. He reminded himself not to be too overt in his searching, as easily as he could ask someone if they’d seen a nandroid someone else could be reporting it to the authorities, another heap of trouble he didn’t have the patience or wherewithal to deal with.
	Having crossed the few blocks home he spent his solitary elevator ride reviewing the plan he’d formulated. Odds are, were she recovered, it would be by someone at least mildly sympathetic to runaway robots, though finding such people was rare. Free robots, equally rare, were a possible outlet for information, too; personal networks between themselves gave them a level of gossip-access humans could only dream of, and word spread quickly among them when a runaway popped up in the city, which was more often than the government and robotics companies were willing to admit. His best bet was flagging down such a robot and coolly bringing up the topic of runaways, how unfortunate their situations were, and butter the bot up, which was easier said than done. They closed ranks very, very tightly around runaways and almost never cooperated when an inquest was made into where they could have gone, and requisition teams rarely ever patrolled robot neighborhoods anymore. Elevator doors shuddering open he stepped down the hallway to his waiting apartment, only to find the door unlocked. He cursed himself for his carelessness before stepping inside and seeing, waiting on the couch, a slick-haired man in a trenchcoat and fedora.
	“Fuck,” he thought.
	“Good evening, Mr. Anon. I let myself in, hope you don’t mind,” the man said, swishing a mug of coffee he had evidently prepared himself. “I’m Special Corporate Agent Wilkinson, I have a handful of questions for you. Your neighbor Ms. Jones was very helpful in letting me get to you so quickly.”
	“The fuck do you want, man? I don’t have time for this shit.” Holding up the thick Sterling manual the man started rifling through the pages.
	“Well, your neighbor very kindly informed us that you purchased a used Sterling nandroid, not an issue, and that she ran away - very much an issue. Now, you’re by no means ‘responsible’ for these things but we would like to know if you’ve been out looking for her or any information on where she could be.”
	“I don’t have to tell you jack, asshole.”
	“Yes, and we don’t ‘have’ to arrest you for robot negligence and contempt of user agreement, yet here we are. So please, give us a quick rundown on what happened and we’ll be out of your hair.” Anon sighed, there wasn’t going to be an easy way to dislodge the agent from his apartment and, knowing the reach of people like him, no way to know for sure when he wasn’t being watched. Corporate policing had become a way of life in the past years, and anyone who’d even interacted unknowingly with a runaway could expect a knock at the door.
	“Look, uh, it was weird,” Anon started, forming his lie as he went. “She made coffee and breakfast which was fine, but then she spilled some on me. I, well, I yelled at her for her mistake and she apologized. She went to do the laundry and clean the clothes, right? Well when she came back she set the hamper down, slapped me, screamed, and ran off before I could react and chase her. Very sudden change in behavior.”
	“And that’s the truth, then?”
	“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
	“Never bet on that Anon,” Wilkinson said, standing up. He clasped a hand on Anon’s shoulder and stared at him with his steely, grey eyes. “We’ll be around if we have any further questions, but for now I’ll be on my way.” With a cock of his hat and a flourish of his jacket he made his way out the door, shutting it sternly behind him.
	“Fucker,” Anon muttered. Any hope of covertly edging out where Holly dissolved before him, knowing that a wary eye would likely be on him from the moment he left for work until that same trip home. He walked over to that same couch and slumped down on it, picking up the weighty manual in his hands. The worn cover showed him the domestic idyll of a smiling family sitting at a table, a distant sister of Holly approaching the table with supper ready in hand. He threw the manual to the ground and rubbed his throbbing eyes. Standing up he roamed his apartment aimlessly, searching desperately for some other measly clue but all he could find was the hamper, still full of unfolded laundry. In it was Holly’s default uniform, the deep blue and pure white obscured by the crude, surrounding mess of Anon’s clothes: Anon’s clothes. He smiled briefly remembering she was still in one of his favorite tee shirts and a pair of loose shorts. Banking on whoever had her not changing her he had that to go off of, asking for someone based on their clothes rather than ‘they’re a robot’ would make his searching a little less conspicuous. He threw open his closet doors and pulled the hamper to his side. He got to work folding the clothes she had left behind and, using a handy divider, hung up her dress in its own place on the rack.
	Having completed his chore he ached for something to do besides sitting around, but it was all he could do for the present. Going out now to search would be both risky and moronic, a guarantee to probing eyes he knew more than he let on. He settled into the couch again and turned the TV on, the quiet noise of a sports game guiding his thoughts to where, and when, he’d be able to best look for her or anyone who might have seen her. Piecing together his commute to work tomorrow from when he woke up to when he turned in was easy and, despite his hours, allowed him roughly two hours a day to snoop around outside of his home under the auspice of getting his shopping done for the day. It was a narrow window, but it was all he had. He only hoped he could track her down in those precious moments before somebody else did.



	Holly’s eyes flitted open as she awoke from another hollow sleep, blanket still swaddled around her. She yawned and stretched her limbs, human reactions for an all but human person. As she scanned her surroundings the hazy memory of the previous night resurfaced, the liberation from that creature still fresh in her mind. She smiled warmly at the thought that, somehow, she’d be able to find Anon and tell him with a smile she was ‘better’, only to get some characteristically nonchalant response from him. Her thoughts paused and began to orbit around whether or not he would even want her back - he didn’t know what had happened and would want to be rid of her more than anything, something she could painfully understand. Standing up she cleared her thoughts as best she could, focusing more on folding her blanket than on what her next steps would be. Stepping out into the concrete hall she found herself in the main room of the apartment, rugs haphazardly dotting the floor and framing the central couch where, now that it was pulled out, the young woman slept, snoring gently. Holly smiled warmly as she watched the gentle rise and fall of the woman’s chest before turning towards the kitchen, no more than a counter and range slapped haphazardly to the concrete wall. She sifted through the fridge to see how well stocked these people were and, to her surprise, it seemed they had just gotten more groceries, though not much. Wanting to return the favor even a little she collected the sparse materials for breakfast and got to work at the stove. For the first time in days everything about herself felt right, as though this wasn’t a chore to keep herself occupied, but her purpose, and she could finally fulfill it as she was meant to. Breakfast complete she walked over to the snoozing woman and, with a gentle rousing, she was up.
	“Whuzzup,” she slurred.
	“Breakfast, miss!” She squeezed and rubbed her eyes before finally focusing on the robot before her, holding a steaming a dish of eggs beneath a beaming smile. “Eat up!” Accepting them Lia yawned again before taking a forkful into her mouth, the nandroid waiting expectantly for an answer. She smiled and a hum of enjoyment sent the nandroid on her way. Mouth still full, she called after her.
	“Cawffee too, pleashe!” It was a welcome change to have someone other than herself, a poor cook, or a construction robot, a less poor cook, make food for once, but it couldn’t last. Having her here longer than a few days was inviting a whole mess of trouble that she was ill prepared to deal with, enumerating in her head the myriad crimes she could be pinned for were they raided. She had to do her best to get her home as quick as possible. For the moment, though, she’d let herself be pampered just a little bit before getting back on track. Returning with a steaming mug of coffee the nandroid settled herself in a convenient bean bag chair, taking care not to spill her red-hot ward. Pointing and grunting, the woman gestured to an end table she had missed where the coffee was promptly deposited. Plate bare and mug in hand she opened up another line of questions.
        “Okay, if we’re gonna get you home we need to know as much as possible about this guy, Anon, as possible. And for that matter, each other.”
        “O-Oh! Well, Anon is… Anon is,” she trailed off, struggling for an answer. The harder she reached for a description of him the more he eluded her, the few days she had spent with him fading into the background of her mind. Her impeccable memory failed in recalling anything about his face or his looks; there was only a shadowy impression of the person who had bought her built from what TV he watched and how little work he made her do. “Anon is very… kind? He was very gentle, very apologetic. That’s all I can say. For my being a maid he didn’t work me very hard. It felt almost *wrong*.”
        “I get you, but let’s get to him later, okay,” she said, a flash of concern crossing her face. “We’re sheltering you here for now, so what’s your name?”
        “Holly.”
        “A pleasure. I’m Lia, and our absent friend is Bruce.”
        “Lia?”
	“Short for Cecilia.”
        “A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Holly smiled, reassured once more. It was an almost instinctual response to say any human name and its owner were ‘lovely’, but she meant it more than she had for others. “And Bruce is…?”
        “Bruce. Bruce is Bruce. I met him in a scrapyard, we were both scavving. Decided to pair up to watch each other’s backs, stuff like that. For someone without a sense of taste,” she sipped her coffee lazily, “he’s a pretty decent cook. ‘Learned it from the hobos,’ he tells me. Nothing compared to you, though.” Holly blushed and smiled at the flattery, vast libraries of culinary knowledge giving her an unfair edge, but one she was loath to concede, over others.
        “And he does the grocery shopping I assume?”
        “Correct, and often enough too. People don’t bother him because he’s big, so it’s for the best.”
        “I was hoping to help do groceries while I was here… ,” Emmy said, dejectedly. “Maybe I can give him a list of things to grab so I can make something nicer than just a bowl of eggs?” Cecilia gave her a look of bemused surprise before gesturing around the messy home.
        “We don’t exactly have the money for anything fancy, Holly,” she said. Seeing her face sulk she continued, “but I’ll see if he can get you some cheaper ingredients if you plan on staying here a while - I can call him while he’s out. For the time being, do you plan on going out to look today?”
        “I-Well, I don’t know. I told you I don’t remember what he looks like anymore, and I,” she stopped. She was grasping at the wispy images of where she had run from, but she only really knew the inside of Anon’s apartment. Given a map she’d be unable to find his building, just one of dozens of concrete blocks built up in some part of town she didn’t know. “I couldn’t tell you where he lives, either. I seem to have forgotten.” Cecilia smiled at her but inside her concern for Holly was growing - clearly removing the persona had stirred up her head more than a little, and whatever Holly had lost in the switch was now confirmed locked inside of the little angry puck sitting muted in the workshop.
        “Holly, I don’t mean to scare you, but some of your memories of Anon might’ve been lost when I took her out of your head,” she said, placing a parental emphasis on ‘her’, as though she'd been forced to punish a disobedient sister of Holly’s. “Going off that you’re in no place to go out looking for Anon alone, or even with Bruce or I - you’d stick out like a sore thumb. I think it’s best you stay here with us for the time and let Anon do the looking, he sounds like a smart man.” Setting her mug down Cecilia took Holly’s hand into her own and squeezed it tightly, the lukewarm plastic shell giving nothing under the pressure. Holly’s face contorted in roiling emotions for once all her own, but at the same time feelings not of hope, but a swallowing grief. She’d had three people in the world who cared for her, even a little, and it was down to two now. She looked up at the patient face and squeezed the hand back, giving at least a small gesture of understanding for what was to come. Scooching over and seizing her near-empty mug again, Cecilia patted the folded-out mattress and invited Holly on.
        “O-Oh! Okay…”
        “What TV do you like?”
        “I haven’t been around long enough to know what I’d like to watch,” she peeped, but a flash of memory caught her mid sentence as she recalled one lazy afternoon just watching sports with Anon, who was absent from her recollection. “What sports do you like?”
        “Never had much taste for them, but I’ll put it on if you want.”
        “N-No! It’s not a huge deal, I’d rather do some chores anyways!”
        “There’s nothing to do though.” This remark shocked Holly on an instinctual level, the concept of there being ‘no work’ for a nandroid anathema to their very reason for existence. To suggest as much was a direct insult and Holly showed it, standing up in a huff and gesturing wildly between odd pieces of trash, wrinkled clothes strewn about and suspect piles of dried mud tracked in from the alleyway. “Okay maybe there’s something to do.”
        “May I?”
        “Have at it.” Holly snapped to work, not sparing a moment in commandeering a broom leaning in a corner to sweep up the veneer of dirt and grime which coated the bare concrete, moving from task to task with frightful speed as she slowly brought the room to order. Sneaking into the bathroom which, very oddly, contained the laundry machines as well as a ‘linen closet’, she stole a hamper to start collecting up clothes before depositing them in the laundry-bath, leaving them for later. Returning to the mainroom with the dustbin from the ‘kitchen’ she gathered up the errant bits of rubbish which had wormed themselves beneath the sofa or, even worse, into the carpet.
        “You really must learn to take better care of your home Ms. Cecilia.”
        “Uh-huh,” she grunted, too interested in the television to give more than a glance and a nod.
        “You’ll need to get off that couch so I can wash the sheets as well.” Grabbing a corner of the fabric and sniffing it the young woman winced ever so slightly.
        “It’ll be fine for a little bit more.”
        “I don’t want to be stern in the home of someone who’s housing me, but no. I’ll be washing those with the rest of your clothes.” Sighing loudly she got the ‘fine’ she was hoping for and started stripping the sheets from the pull out bed as Cecilia scrabbled off of the mattress out of Holly’s way. Satisfied with the now bare pull-out Holly folded it up, much to Cecilia’s chagrin, and marched off to do the laundry with the wad of sheets in hand. She felt fuzzy memories of doing laundry for or around Anon and it dawned on her again why she had run away in the first place, and her hands trembled as she started hefting the first load in. She looked across the hall through the cracked workshop door, knowing in the dark room sat her personal demon trapped in a little black antique. She rushed to shut the door and get herself focused, wanting to spend as few hours as possible idling, setting herself to her work with a vigor not felt for a (relatively speaking) long time.



        Another long day at work done, Anon heaved and twisted himself in his bus seat, joints cracking and groaning under the burden of his profession. He arched his back to elicit a few cathartic cracks before relaxing once more in his seat. He wouldn’t be going directly home yet, not for the two hours he had allotted himself. With a tug of the cord Anon was at his neighborhood grocery, a not-too-large outlet nestled in the bottom of a business office, offering a stunning (for his neighborhood) full single story of shopping space. Walking into the sterile white interior he started scanning the aisles around him, grabbing a small shopping cart to blend in better. He sped his cart towards the back of the store, walking straight into the derelict freezer section to catch a moment alone in the cool air. He ran through his head who to look for and what to ask them about Holly: free robots and if they have friends who like sports and sports memorabilia, maybe even a jersey or two. It was flimsy and would turn a lot of robots off of him for fear of speaking to a narc, but it was his best bet to find leads to trail. In the end it was luck alone that could guide him to that golden goose of a robot or, maybe, human that had seen Holly.
        As he paced past the deli he stopped suddenly, cart lurching forward before being arrested back. There one was, plain as day and easy as pie. A hulking construction robot, easily over seven feet, was browsing packaged meats, holding a tiny cell phone in his hulking hands, clearly having a chat. Anon decided to give him his privacy before going in for the kill, scooping a jug of milk and a pack of yoghurt into his cart to smooth over his spying. With a delicate flip shut the robot dropped the phone into a waiting pocket. Now was the time. Anon sidled his cart up to the display and started to purview the pork and beef before him, inching closer to the robot, who was paying him no mind and comparing the prices of two different steaks, stroking his steel chin slowly and weighing his options.
        “Special occasion, friend,” Anon asked, trying his best to come off as a friendly passerby. Evidently this failed as the robot was startled slightly, his hulking frame jumping lightly before he turned to him, glowing yellow eyes focusing and narrowing at the human below him. He wore nothing spare a green gardener’s apron replete with handy tools, and Anon spied the flip phone peeking out of such a pocket.
        “Oh, uh, yes. Special dinner with a friend.”
        “You the cook or is it your friend?”
        “It’s a new friend.”
        “Oh-ho,” Anon said. “New friends are always good! Is he a good cook?”
        “She is. She is a good cook. I’ve said enough, I need to pick the right cut here.”
        “Is she a sports fan? A special friend, maybe? She have a sports jersey for her favorite team,” Anon continued, his barrage of questions rapidly irritating the robot. “I’m a bit of a hooligan myself and I’m looking for new friends for my fantasy league, you see-” Abruptly the robot grabbed him by the collar and lifted him clear off the ground, twisting his head around for any errant witnesses. Seeing none he stared into Anon’s eyes, boring a hole in his head.
        “You’ve asked enough questions, pal. I need to be on my way, and I don’t want to see you around ever again.” Dropping Anon on his rear he took his choice from the cooler and dropped it into the basket slung over his opposite arm. “Go, don’t even think of following me.”
        “Paydirt,” Anon thought, ignoring his now throbbing behind. “I can’t believe this shit, this is beyond lucky! And if that holds out I can follow him home without getting murdered!” A very real possibility when you manage to anger a construction bot. Scrabbling instinctively backwards and pulling his cart after him Anon pulled his best ‘innocent victim’ response as he stood up, summoning a tremble as best he could.
        “J-Jeez man! The heck was that for! I’m just looking to up my fantasy league, I mean it’s pretty good and some coworkers are in on it, but I’m always looking for new-”
        “I said to shut it,” the robot said, leaning in, “and leave. Now.” Anon knew when a robot’s patience was up and decided to scram before he foiled his chances by having the cops called because of his carelessness. Replacing the dairy products and cart he slinked out of the store and into the dank alleyway which flanked it, searching for a place to take cover while he waited out the robot. Ducking behind a heap of cardboard and garbage Anon checked his watch: an hour and a half was all he had. He prayed the robot was near the end of his trip but their altercation would make him cautious, careful, even more than was normal for robots. Holding his watch to his face in the dimming light he pressed the button for light every few moments, watching his precious moment slip away with each dull yellow flash into his eyes. Finally, nearly a half hour later, he spied the robot emerging with a singular paper bag, evidently full to the brim. He swung his head left and right several times, each time slower than the last. Finally satisfied with his scan he stepped forward, passing by the scrunched up Anon: fifty-seven minutes. Moving quickly Anon shed his coat and withdrew from its pockets a handy toque and pair of shades, ready to pursue without being noticed. He hung the coat under his arm and paced up to the alleyway exit, watching for the fast disappearing robot. Seeing his blocky silhouette already a half-block away Anon moved on after him, matching his pace from meters away and almost flawlessly mirroring his every turn and twist. Anon knew for sure he was guiding him into the robot neighborhoods and a lump built in his throat knowing full well what would happen if they mistook his intentions.
Finally, almost a half hour and a few close call-head turns later, Anon watched the robot turn into one of the numerous alleyways which defined the city. Jogging up to the entrance he peered around the edge and watched the bot descend a cellar stair before releasing from yet another pocket a pair of jingling keys.



        Holly turned her head from the kitchen counter where she was preparing her workspace when the loud drop of the door bolt signalled Bruce’s return from his impromptu outing. He’d agreed, begrudgingly until Cecilia pressed him, to stop and grab some ingredients on his way home from ‘work’, but only because it was a special occasion. Descending the steps the cubish robot squeezed down into the apartment, hanging his apron on a helpful hook after relinquishing the bag into Holly’s waiting arms. She quickly started unpacking and squirreling away the ingredients for dinner, a simple but filling steak-and-potatoes ordeal as Bruce spoke to Lia in the background.
        “She can’t stay here any longer, it’s not safe,” he said, leaning over her shoulder from behind the couch.
        “What happened? She’s telling me she can’t remember her owner’s face or where he lives, so it’s no use for her to go out to look. Best chance is him showing up here.”
        “That’s just the problem, Lia! When a knock comes at that door how do we know? There was a guy at the store asking way too many questions, and they were all on the dot. They obviously saw her when she was running, they know what she’s wearing!” The dull conversation behind her quickly soured Holly’s mood; it wasn’t the thought of being put out by the pair, if it would keep them safe it was okay, but that she was being actively hunted by humans was unfathomable. For all her and her innumerable sisters’ lives they’d been there as friends and family, but now she was seeing just how dangerous a world it was. She left a pot of water to boil before interjecting.
        “If you need me to go, I’ll go. I wouldn’t want to be more of a burden,” she said, struggling to get the words out. “I’ll even take h-her, save you the trouble. She probably knows what I don’t, so maybe we could look together.”
        “Out of the question,” Lia returned. “One way or another we’ve committed a crime and whether you’re here or not when they kick in the door doesn’t matter.”
        “It matters if we can say she was never here!”
        “Look around, man! Does this look like a place where a nandroid has *never* been?” She gestured around the immaculately clean home from a couch several shades of beige lighter (and cleaner), all evidently the work of the little robot standing before them.
“Fuck. We’re fucked.” As he spoke the fateful knock came; it wasn’t too heavy, nowhere near a pounding, but it was determined to get inside.
        “I’ll get it,” Holly chimed, innate programming pushing her to act. A stiff steel arm blocked her path.
        “No, I will.” Thick legs lurching forward he ascended the stairs once again, flexing and working his aged joints before unlocking the door. With a twist of the handle the door was open again, shouted words echoing into the room. “I told you not to follow me, asshole! Just know you earned this, coming here alone!”
        “Wait man, fuck! I’m here for my robot, stop!” Anon couldn’t stop him before a heavy metal jab connected with his sternum, rocketing him backwards onto the stairs. He writhed on the ground feeling his chest heave and creak - nothing broken (he hoped) considering he could breath with relative ease after having the wind knocked out of him, but it’d bruise for a while.
        “I probably deserved that,” he groaned, sitting up again. “But I’m not a cop, Jesus. If I was, why would I be here alone? You said it yourself!”
        “Listen man, you can’t just waltz on in and say it’s your robot, that shit’s too easy to fake. Tell me about her.”
        “I-Well, she’s wearing one of my jerseys right now, her name’s Holly,” he paused, reaching for details. “Okay, listen; she ran away after finishing the laundry, before which I spilled coffee on her dress, hence her wearing my stuff.” Bruce turned around the corner and looked Holly in the face.
        “You hear that?” She nodded. “It true?” She nodded again. He turned back to a standing Anon, hunched over for fear of stressing the blow to his chest. Metal fingers pulled him close like at the store as Bruce pulled him close.
        “If you’re bullshitting me, the next punch is going all the way through, got it?”
        “No contest,” Anon coughed. Bruce set him down and guided him into the apartment where he spied a woman watching from a couch and Holly standing by her, hands folded in her lap.
        “Is that him,” Lia prompted. “Maybe seeing him will jog your memory.”
        “I wouldn’t know.” Her face scrunched up as she stared at and analyzed him, trying desperately to pick out some detail that could unlock what was missing; to her, Anon was a splotch in the apartment with no defining characteristics but what he put on the TV and that she was wearing his clothes now. And that ‘she’ had raped him, though the culprit sat silenced in the back.
        “That’s it! I don’t know, but she has to!” Holly rushed back to the workshop, seizing the idle cylinder and returning with it in hand. “She has to have the memories I don’t, so if she hears his voice, we’ll know!” Anon stared at the little device, realizing it held whatever malicious entity had been in Holly’s head.
        “If you’re ‘Anon’, that’s what raped you,” Lia said, taking the implement. “Holly here had two personas in her head, and they clashed too much. I’ll take her off mute.” Before she was unsilenced a swishing band of blue light circled her top over and over, evidently trying to speak. With a press of a button a cacophonous laughter filled the room.
        “You absolute *morons*! I can’t believe someone smart enough to take *me* down wouldn’t remove the address ping,” she laughed, screeching in glee as Lia fumbled her in her hands. “Yeah, that’s him, the pathetic quickshot! Doesn’t matter now, I’ve been pinging a robot runaway here for hours!”
        “Fuck. We’re done,” Cecilia said calmly. “Look, you’re Anon, okay. Holly here evidently cares a lot about you, and you came here to take a punch like that and keep going. You need to get the hell out of here, and fast.” A thumping at the door interrupted her as she was fishing in Bruce’s apron. The thumping continued as she handed Anon a lone car key, curling his fingers around it as she pushed Holly and Anon towards the workshop.
        “There’s a door which leads to a garage in there,” she yelled. “We have a car for emergencies, now fucking go!”
        “But,” Holly started. The laughing continued as the cylinder cackled about how she’d get a body back for shutting the ‘operation’ down, ready to stalk the streets for ‘bitches’.
        “No time, go already!” Bruce was already holding the door shut as repeated crashes bulged it inwards. Holly snatched the disembodied persona in her hands and, in one fluid motion, spiked it hard into the ground silencing it permanently. She screamed as it smashed on the ground and Anon pulled her along, Cecilia diving behind the couch and seizing a concealed firearm, Bruce letting the door crash in. As Anon yanked her into the workshop she saw the corner where she’d slept, folded blanket and cord unattended. Pulling away she scooped them up and saw, glinting on the steel table, her identicard forged just for her. She slipped it into a short pocket as Anon took her hand again. Peering out the door one last time she saw the door cave in as its hinges exploded off and clattered to the floor. Orders barked through heavy helmets and face masks filled her ears, watching with horror as Bruce charged forward and bowled himself into the encroaching officers, launching many back out the door as he pummeled them. Lia watched, rifle ready for the fateful moment. With a momentary head turn she smiled at Holly and waved before a final tug pulled her back into the workshop.
        “I’m sorry Holly but we have to go!” Anon seized on a door handle at the rear of the shop and threw it open, darkness flooding in. There was an empty garage save for a single beaten car, years of age showing itself in the pool of light escaping the apartment. Lurching forward Anon seized on the driver’s side handle and launched himself into the seat, Holly rounding the car. The chatter of automatic fire and plinking ricochets filled the abandoned garage as Anon thrust the key into the ignition. Twist after twist brought choked stalls as he worked the gas, engine roaring to life after too many tense moments. Wheels squealing and slipping on the concrete the car pitched forward up the first ramp. Swinging the wheel and pivoting around the corner Anon approached the barricaded entrance before blasting through the plywood warnings, the boards splintering over the windshield. Holly noticed an errant piece of crumpled yellow paper, scrawled handwriting between the lines decipherable only to her eyes.
        “Anon, they left directions! ‘To whoever is in this car: Good luck’,” she said, listing off each step in sequence.
        “One at a time Holly, just tell me when and where to go!” She nodded and had him swing a hard left down the road, rubber ripping on the asphalt as he sped past the alleyway and onto the vacant streets, night creeping into the city. Holly turned her head and saw a line of black cars with smoked windows choking the alleyway as the car roared beyond. Speeding up and swerving around the sparse cars populating the streets the pair saw handfuls of hulking, retired robots running or marching with purpose, a spare few humans among them all moving in the direction of the alley. The echoing cacophony of battle was spilling into the road as the two skipped light after light, Holly deftly guiding Anon towards one of the main highways out of the city. Their anxious escape was jeopardized by handfuls of all-too-similar black suburbans speeding past them, obviously having lost interest in their chief quarry. With a fateful turn Anon came to the final onramp to freedom, his eyes meeting with fury at a barricade of cars and corporate security, wood palisades topped with flashing lights spelling the end. Anon spun his head towards Holly, her face falling into her lap as her tiny body was wracked with little sobs, shivering as she shook her head repeatedly. Clenching his teeth with anger Anon pressed his foot as far into the floor as he could, feeling the pressure of acceleration he catapulted the car up the ramp and plowed through the narrow gap they had foolishly left, sideswiping unfortunate officers and scratching their cars as the car blew past the checkpoint.
        “Holly, get up! We’re home free,” Anon shouted, giddy with adrenalin and his limbs tingling and jellied from their escape. Slowly lifting her head, synthetic tears dotting her cheeks, Holly watched the streaking of the streetlights on the empty highway. “I need my navigator, okay?”
        “O-Okay,” she said, still weary. Clearing her throat and sitting up straight she held the directions out in front of her, pointing out which lanes to take and which exit to get onto. A smile stealthily found its way to both of their faces as the brilliant light of the city started to dip and dim behind them, the highway pulling them further into the sparse wilderness ahead. Hours dragged on with close calls all the way, any car aside them on the road could easily spell doom for them. But, mercifully, their luck held out as they pulled off the highway onto ever-shrinking roads. Finally, deep into the night, a winding one-lane street brought them to an isolated farm, a lone farmhouse sitting beneath the pale moon and stars, dark save for a single lantern dangling above its porch. Pulling up alongside the house as the gravel crackled beneath the car, a light shone from a window as the car idled and stopped, Anon and Holly exiting simultaneously.
        “The note said if there’s a lantern on the porch it’s safe. I-I think we’re okay,” Holly said.
        “I hope so.” Stepping forward the duo knocked on the door only to have it swing inward, a lanky old man puckering his lips as he eyed the two up and down. He straightened his thick eyeglasses before cocking a newsboy’s cap atop his beanpole body.
        “Runaways, eh? Prove it!” The two turned to each other and shrugged nervously patting themselves for any shred of evidence of their situation. Holly handed him the note reluctantly, loathing to surrender their only directions this whole time.
        “Th-That’s all we have.” Pulling his glasses off he held the paper point-blank to his eyes, sweeping them back and forth over it. Without a word he folded the sheet and slipped it into the pocket on the front of his overalls.
        “Follow me,” he croaked. Stepping through the screen door into the small house he bellowed out. “Muriel! We got two more!” A muffled affirmation emerged from a basement door as the man turned back to the couple. “Weren’t followed, were you?”
        “No, sir,” the two chimed.
        “Good. This is my wife Muriel.” A large woman with glasses of her own emerged from the basement with a bandana swaddling her head, clasping her hands together as she spied the haggard pair.
        “Oh, how cute! Don’t let Eustace trick you, he’s a sweetheart,” she said, rounding him up in a tight hug. “But come here you two, I’ll get you fixed up!”
        “Fixed up?”
        “Passports, young lady! You’re leaving the country!” The two stared at each other in bewilderment, unable to rationalize their departure beyond escaping. The thought had never occurred what would come after they evaded their pursuers, only the in-the-moment rush to escape. “Come this way!”
She pulled the two of them in tow as a thin-legged dog tagged after them. Descending a creaking wooden staircase she showed them her own shop, a camera in one corner and a table replete with blank passports secured from sources unknown. She lined them up for their photos and, satisfied with the results, took their dimensions before ushering them out of the basement. Back upstairs a fire was started in the hearth, orange light flickering to and from across the wall, Eustace rocking slowly in a chair. Leaning against an end table just in reach was an old, old fashioned coach gun, ornate, varnished wooden furniture and silvered filigree scintillating in the firelight.
        “It’s just in case,” he reassured them, catching their concerned stares past his coke bottle glasses.
        “So what’s next,” Anon asked.
        “It’s simple,” he grumbled. “You leave. Cross the farm along the gravel road and take the left, that’ll put you on the highway. Follow it to the border and go.”
        “How long have you been at this?”
        “Long enough to know not to tell you.” The man and the robot could tell this operation was never his idea, but it was well out of his hands at this point. Glancing at the light seeping from under the basement door they knew it was all he could do to protect his wife in her mission. A heavy silence muffled the room, broken only by the crack and split of firewood as the older man rocked, eyes closed, waiting for his wife to finish. A few spare moments later she was up, two leather bound booklets in hand for the pair. Before she handed them over she rounded them up in a constricting hug that nearly squeezed the life out of them, before listing each of the details on their passports: height and weight, hair and eye color, every menial detail border officers would half-assedly check before they could get through.
        “Holly, because you’re a robot you didn’t need a name change,” she said. “But you big guy, you’re now Aynn Ønne. Strange I know, but it’ll get you through.” Accepting the documents gratefully she clapped her hands together again and squeed at the nervous, blushing couple, unable to contain her excitement before sending them off. As they piled back into the waiting car she waved from the porch at the blushing pair, the engine’s roar muffling her shouted farewells as her husband watched on, leaning on the door frame.



        It wasn’t an extreme drive through the winding acres of the farm, the gravel road guiding them back to tar-paved civilization on the way to freedom. Following the man’s explicit instructions they turned left, northbound, towards the border, the obvious green sign confirming his directions. Their idle drive was silent save for the radio, either of them too nervous and too tired to exchange anything more than a grunt or peep of approval at the music. The highway and yellow sodium lights blending together Holly yawned, rolling herself onto her side and resting her head on the window. She held her passport to her chest, having slipped her card into it it held the fabricated truth of her freedom from what inescapable reality existed southwards. She flipped it open to look at her photo and, much to her surprise, found a slip of paper with an address and a phone number on it.
        “Here’s home for the time being,” the note said, a heart signed beneath it. Holly showed it to Anon whose shoulders loosened just a bit, but enough to get a smile from Holly; they had a home, at least a temporary one, waiting for them. Turning over again Holly placed her passport in a waiting cupholder and shut her eyes, slipping into the first happy sleep in so long.
Bolting awake Holly turned to Anon, blinding white lights flooding the car with shadows as Anon spoke to someone outside the car.
        “Seems she’s awake, eh?” Anon turned, surprised, to the still-groggy nandroid.
        “Hey, uh, where’d you put your passport?” Yawning, she wordlessly smacked her hand around the cupholder, unable to find it but giving Anon the general idea. Grabbing it he handed it to the waiting border officer.
        “Purpose of your visit?”
        “Oh-Uh, visiting family.”
        “Duration of stay?”
        “A few months, hopefully longer.”
        “Long visit,” he probed, tipping up the brim of his hat.
        “W-We were hoping to stay permanently.”
        “Okay…,” he continued, scribbling with a pen. “So a family-sponsored immigration?”
        “Correct,” Anon said, half question and half statement. A moment’s pause turned into a stretching sequence of minutes as the man filed through several cabinet drawers, shuffling through slips of paper and watermarked forms. Anon was ready to gun it through the border and live as a fugitive in *two* countries, waiting for the call to step out of the car. Listening and watching the man work he nervously pressed and eased the brake.




*KACHUNK*


...


*KACHUNK*




        Mercifully, the man handed back the passports with a smile.
        “Be on your way, sir, welcome to the country!” The divider lifted and Anon pressed ahead onto the highway, exit signs lit up and a giant billboard exclaiming ‘Welcome!’ dominating his vision. He spied a rest stop flanked by a sprawling field and pulled in, maneuvering the car through the lot and, with two jostling jumps over the curb, into the field as he started driving away from the highway, the light growing dimmer. Ejecting the car key once again he left Holly asleep as he opened the car door and ascended to the roof, sitting alone as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He laid on his back and watched the sky for the longest time, a sight wholly alien to a city dweller like him was now splayed before his eyes. It was by no means a grand spill of the Milky Way, but it was something he’d never seen at home before; one was lucky if they could see anything more than Venus and the Moon at times. And now, for the first time he could remember, he could make out hundreds of stars, tracing imaginary lines to make his own constellations. His revelling was interrupted by panicked shouts from inside as he watched Holly launch herself out the passenger side, calling his name. Calmly he sat up and lowered a hand to her, her fear melting away as she took it and he hauled her up onto the roof. Lying back down he pointed silently to the sky and she set herself prone besides him. The couple watched the stars for what felt like hours, Holly drawing on knowledge un-touched by resets to point out the actual constellations and their principle stars; trivia meant for young children but no less fascinating to Anon. As they watched the sky their hands found each other at their waists, interlinking in a quiet squeeze on top of the car. Out of the inky blackness above them a singular meteor darted across the zenith, eliciting a small gasp from the watching pair before it fizzled and faded back into the blackness, the silence returning again.
        “So what’d you wish for, Anon?”
        “You’re not supposed to wish and tell, Holly.” Confidence surging inside her she grabbed his face and smacked it against hers, pulling him into an intimate kiss before letting him go and staring into his eyes.
        “It’s *kiss* and tell you immaculate weirdo.” But quietly, giddily, in her heart, she knew that her own wish had been answered.