002: Animator
Before he can raise her, he has to erase her.
CAN OUR SOULS LIVE ON IN ROBOTS?
Dr. Renegade has done the impossible—he's unlocked the key to eternal life. With a simple DNA sample and a brain chip transfer, anyone can be resurrected: their mind, their memories, their very essence—preserved forever. But there's one problem: his closest ally in the project confesses all of it is a sham. If that’s true, and he hasn't conquered death, what did he invite in? As secrets unravel, two men are thrust into a desperate search for answers, uncovering a deception more terrifying than they ever imagined.
DISCOVER THE TRUTH. CONTINUE READING NOW.
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 002
“Soon,” he says. “Soon, I won’t look so sad. Soon, I’ll be the happiest man there is.”
The girl screams for her life. “MAMA!!” she wails. But her mother can’t hear her. Her mother’s not there. The little girl is alone. Those steel walls are thick and formidable. No words are able to escape that unfamiliar room. Her voice trembles, and soon, those piercing shrieks become unintelligible whines. The reality finally sinks in as she lies there strapped on a gurney. Why did she have to be tied down so firmly? She wiggles to get out, but that’s impossible.
Tears pour down her soft cheeks as a door opens. Her heart flutters for a moment, but then it stops altogether. A man she has never seen before enters the empty room. His dress is clinical. His face is set like stone. Her body begins to quiver at the sight.
Each clack of his boots escalates her heart rate. In only a few paces, his face pulls a shadow over hers as he leans in to examine her. Then, he raises a cup high enough for her to see. “Water,” he says.
There is nothing she can do. Her arms are tied to the faux leather. The man cups one hand behind her head and brings the other close. “Open,” he tells her. She pauses when the cup touches her lips. The man’s eyes puncture hers when she glances up at him, so she opens her mouth, and he feeds her the liquid. It goes down in a few gulps.
Almost instantly, her eyelids begin to droop. The man backs up and looks at his watch. The girl’s head drops back down, and the rest of the body begins to twitch vigorously. The gurney shakes ever so slightly while the girl convulses on top of it.
The ticking hand makes a full rotation on the watch face before the man looks back up. The girl’s body is now completely motionless. Silence echoes throughout the room. After a few moments, he steps forward, unstraps one of her arms, and presses a thumb down on her wrist. Where there was once a pulse is now nothing at all.
The man raises his other thumb in the air and looks over at the only mirror in the room — except it’s not a mirror. It’s one-way glass. Someone has been watching from the other side this whole time.
“Excellent,” Renegade’s voice says through the PA speaker. “Now come back.”
His hands are clasped tightly behind his back as he stares blank-faced into the experiment chamber. The door beside the glass window soon opens, and the man enters the dimly lit control room. Renegade turns his head toward the man, and the man nods in response.
Renegade swivels his head further still to find multiple other men standing behind him, waiting for him to do something. He returns his gaze toward the glass. The cold light from the experiment room shines boldly on his face. Then, he looks down, finds a certain control on the board, and flips it.
A few portions of the wall yawn, allowing a few spider-like arms to extend from their hiding spots. One of them holds the girl’s head down as another begins to make in insertion. Meanwhile, a third slices into her arm, drawing blood into a vile. Renegade watches unfeelingly.
Once the operation is complete, another set of mechanical arms extend with a long, black bag. The body is unstrapped from the gurney and shoved into it.
The vile of red liquid and a small, round chip are placed in a container within the wall near the glass. Moments later, a portion of the wall inside the control room opens up, and Renegade retrieves the artifacts.
He pauses to feel the weight of them in his hand, then he turns to his colleagues. “To the recreation sector.”
His steps are measured, his expression undaunted. He leads the dozen other men down a bend and into a voluminous laboratory. The perimeter is lined with tables, consoles, and equipment only they would be able to interpret. But something stands in the middle of the atrium that is not too difficult to understand. A bulky apparatus of metal, wires, and circuitry stands like a grand centerpiece. Its height is three times taller than any of the men in the room. Lights of various hues signal a collection of inputs.
Renegade approaches a panel on its hexagonal surface. He pulls out from his pocket that small, circular chip no bigger than a fingernail and inserts it within a designated slot. Then, the vile is taken out. The blood inside is still warm. He unstoppers it and delicately tilts the oblong flask until the blood is fully drained into a small compartment within the machine. After this, his fingers begin pressing various controls.
Just before his hand pulls on the latch to initiate startup, he falters. The men exchange whispers as they stand by for Renegade to pull down on it.
“Sir?” one of them asks finally.
His eyes stare out absently as if peering into a memory. He remains that way for a prolonged moment before coming back to reality. Then, with all his resolve collected together now, Renegade wraps a second hand around the handle and wrenches on it. The instant the latch locks into position, the apparatus elicits a brassy hum. Steam erupts from the funnel at the top. The lights on it brighten and flicker erratically.
Renegade steps back and draws in a deep breath. The other men in the chamber say nothing. He turns to catch them watching him.
“Find something to do if you must,” Renegade tells them as he ambles past them. “Just don’t keep gawking at me.”
Renegade locates one of the men standing near the entrance at the back of the room. “Why so reserved, Miles?” Renegade says casually.
He stops in front of him. The two look at each other. Miles is a bit taller, a bit older. He frowns down on Renegade.
“Your chip will work,” Renegade reassures him. “I have a feeling about this one.”
He pats Miles’ arm as he exits the room.
The entrance door to Renegade’s penthouse apartment skids open. He steps through the darkened threshold, and lights immediately flicker on. His eyes scans the vast space. No one is there. There is no sound or scurry. The sweeping, glass wall at the far end reveals that night has set in.
Renegade waits for it. He begins to hear a gentle hum of something mechanical. A robotic arm descends from the ceiling and greets him. “Good evening, Dr. Renegade.”
He nods unenthusiastically and motions toward the counter to set down some of his belongings. The arm follows closely behind. “It’s dinnertime, Dr. Renegade. Are you hungry?”
Renegade looks down at his watch. He has time. “I suppose,” he tells it.
“What would you like, sir?” It hovers near him as if eagerly anticipating Renegade’s response.
His feet shuffle near the window, his eyes gaze out toward the cityscape, and he draws in a heavy breath. “You know.”
“Right away, sir,” the arm says. Then, it sweeps into the kitchen area where the familiar clanging is heard.
But Renegade pays no mind to the robot. Instead, his head turns to face the long, empty corridor lit only by the city lights. After a , he pivots and meanders down that direction. His shiny, black boots clack along the otherwise quiet floors. It stops at the usual spot. There, on the wall opposite the glass partition hangs a holographic portrait of a young, five-year-old boy. This boy stands and smiles widely as he locks eye contact with Renegade.
“Hi, Auggie,” Renegade murmurs.
“Hi, Daddy,” the portrait says back. Renegade smiles weakly. “I haven’t seen you since morning.”
“You say that all the time,” Renegade says.
“It’s always true.”
“I’m only a few floors below,” Renegade tells him. “Doing the same things I always do. You know that.”
“I know. I just like asking you.”
This makes Renegade’s eyes droop and his smile disappear.
“You look so sad, Daddy. All the time.”
His eyes lift back up, and they stare at one another in silence. Renegade eventually forces a grin. “Soon,” he says. “Soon, I won’t look so sad. Soon, I’ll be the happiest man there is.”
This makes Auggie laugh with joy. Renegade chuckles along with him.
“I like it when you’re happy,” says the portrait. “How soon will that be?”
Renegade’s smile vanishes for a second time.
Then, out of the silence, something mechanical zips toward them. “Dinner is ready, Dr. Renegade,” the arm says as it appears from behind the wall.
Renegade breaks eye contact with the portrait of Auggie and stares at the robot.
“You spend a lot of time in front of that portrait,” the robot says as it assists Renegade at the table. “It’s just a holograph, you know.”
Renegade’s eyes squint. Something about that statement sounds off coming from a robot.
He scoots in his chair and looks down at his plate to find a common meal prepared. With all the opulence that decorates his home, those simple chicken tenders, macaroni-and-cheese, and raw carrots may appear out of place.
The arm backs toward the corner of the dining space. “So, how was your day, sir?”
“Shut off,” says Renegade as he pierces his fork into the pasta.
The arm ascends into the ceiling without another word, leaving Renegade to finish his dinner in silence.
Miles stands among a group of technicians outside the recreation room. As he converses with them, his eyes drift from their faces onto another down the hall. It’s Renegade, and he’s walking their way. Miles glances down at his watch as a result.
“Any time now, right, gentlemen?” Renegade asks the group once he nears them. But he doesn’t stop at the huddle. Instead, he walks past them and into the room. The technicians look at each other, then follow suit. But Miles hesitates. His eyes narrow. His heart beats more rapidly. There is something unsure about him. His expression gives it away.
Renegade saunters around the machine with great fixation. His hands twitch nervously inside his white coat pockets. Each deliberate step becomes louder than the last. His colleagues stand near the back, checking their own watches. Some bite their nails.
The dissonant vibration from the machine finally ceases. The air tightens from the newfound silence. No one breathes. Everyone fixes their gaze in front of them.
Steam pours through the cracks of the apparatus as its shell opens like a cracked egg. All six sides of the contraption lower like a drawbridge. The fog that was once held inside now splays out in every direction.
The technicians freeze. Even the seasoned ones appear shaken. Miles, who finally steps through the entryway, looks on with thinly veiled concern. But Renegade is captivated. His eyes gleam with wonder, for the one standing in the middle of that mechanical egg is something like a girl. Her form is striking — clearly synthetic by its chrome shell for its skin, yet undeniably a mirror image of the child who had been laid on that gurney just a few hours earlier.
“Mama?” the girl calls out. Her head turns to see if she is there.
A hush falls over the room. The girl’s voice is hauntingly familiar. It echoes the very same tone as her original.
One by one, the colleagues turn their eyes onto Renegade, the girl’s creator. And from the stillness, one of them speaks out. “Congratulations, sir. You’ve just cheated death.”
That sentiment wraps every one of them in chills, yet something like a sneer appears on Renegade’s face. His lip curls into a subtle yet unmistakable smile. And for a moment, a sense of divinity descends on him like a crown.
Hi there! I’m A.T. Lischak, the architect behind the story of The Anima Project. Thanks for reading this far. Don’t miss any updates. All subscribers can expect:
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