The Murder of Elrod Jameson

Elrod took a step back, but he did not fall. The pale tissue around his neck shifted and sprung forward, quickly regenerating what he had lost. Within seconds his head had returned, and the logical debate in his brain had been overturned. It had instead been replaced by abject terror.

He looked around quickly, and saw his half-visor lying on the ground with the bits of the pony’s flesh and his own. Quickly he reached down and picked it up, putting it on his face. As he did, the bits of electronics glittering in the disembodied remains of the pony’s head caught his eye. Without thinking, he grabbed the largest piece he could find and shoved it in his pocket. Perhaps some part of his logical brain was still working, even if he was not aware of it: for all this trouble, he was going to have to make a profit somehow.

The visor had already been barely functional, and it had been damaged in the blast. When Elrod put it on, he was surprised to see that it was actually at least trying to function. The image it showed was blurry and pixilated, but it still gave him some sight into the darkness.

He immediately looked upward toward the roof of the shorter of the two buildings. It was a great distance overhead, and his visor did not have the range to enhance the image that far. The overhangs and water vessels above were barely discernible from the static, but for just a second Elrod was sure that he saw figures moving through the darkness high above.

Until that point, Elrod’s life had been simple, or even outright boring. Yet, when he saw those figures high above him moving through the static of his visor, he found himself running into the darkness as fast as he could. The impulse to survive had overtaken him; modern life, it seemed, had not choked it out of him entirely.

Where exactly the alley went was not entirely clear to him, but Elrod had a general view of the layout of his home district. He had spent hours studying the blueprints or walking the paths in search of scrap or access points to sealed-off areas. In fact, he vaguely recalled having once been down this particular alley. Back then, though, he had been in possession of a light source and even then had been too afraid to follow it to its conclusion.

This time, though, fear propelled him onward rather than slowing him. He only looked back once. When he did, he was already so far down the alley that the flickering diode light at the far end of the path was barely a splotch of light through the rain. In that light, though, he could still see the silhouette of the fallen pony- -and two enormously tall, thin figures standing over it. Though he could not see their faces, he felt their gaze turn to him, and he knew that they saw him far better than he would ever see them.

Then the ground gave way. With a cry, Elrod stumbled down a concrete ravine and splashed into the water below. Water from the alley washed over him, covering his coat in the filth and dirt of the forgotten street- -and, he hoped, washing away the blood that covered him in exchange.

He was confused, but knew at least partially where he was. This channel had been part of a complex system of roads meant for heavy mechanized machinery, but now it served as a drainage channel for the district. The path it took was confusing, but Elrod knew it. It led downward to SteelPoint L6, where SteelPoint City was located.

So Elrod ran. He had no idea that it would be possible for him to move so quickly. The gray and decaying concrete of the uninhabited sections of the district passed by, barely lit by sparse streetlights that were both aging and high. Few parts of this area had been developed, and the ones that had now largely sat abandoned. The path was treacherous; at many places what had come to serve as a footpath was overgrown or blocked by conduits that had either existed long before there was a path of any kind or that had been sloppily added later.

The torrent of rainwater was present on one side, a reeking river of filth and toxicity. Several times Elrod had considered jumping in and letting the swift current take him downstream quickly, but he knew that was a mistake. There were hidden weirs and strange things obscured beneath that dark water, namely pieces of rusted equipment just waiting to impale him- -or unseen things that would drag him under without hesitation.

The whole time, Elrod felt them. He could not see them, no matter how hard he looked around and over his shoulder. Likewise, they made no sound. But he felt them. Their eyes were watching him. Waiting, perhaps, and definitely following. Their presence was maddening, but it drove Elrod forward and forward- -and away from anything that he knew to be secure and familiar.

Eventually Elrod came to long ramp. He slid down it and splashed through knee-deep water and much before finding a latter. Using it, he was able to pull himself upward and onto the street overpass above. He did not know how long he had been running, exactly, or what route he had ended up taking. All of it seemed to blur in his mind. By road, the journey to outskirts of SteelPoint City was a half hour. Access was not possible by motor vehicle. Elrod was not sure if his route had been longer or shorter, but it felt as though it had taken years.

Where he had ended up, though, was definitely not the outskirts. Instead, he found himself on a street filled with crowds of people. Venders lined the nearer side of the street selling anything from elemental residue to exotic animals, and on the far side a wall led upward to a vehicular roadway where massive transport trucks zoomed by as automobiles skittered out of their way.

The area was loud and crowded, and it was the first time Elrod had ever been happy to be in an area with both of those characteristics. He did his best to slide into the crowd, although he did so nervously. Whether or not the individuals following him would be able to track him was still unclear, and there was a strong possibility that the crowd itself would prove to be a more dangerous place than even the dark floodways.

Almost immediately Elrod felt something bump hard against his lower legs. He looked down to see a blue-colored pony with a tightly cropped rainbow mane glaring up at him.

“Hey! Watch it, fuckface!” she said, striking him hard in the knee with her hoof. Elrod almost buckled from the blow, but managed to stumble past her. The crowd thronged around him and in a second she was gone from his sight. More came, though. Figures of every shape and size. Most of them were human, but a great number were ponies. The identity of many of the others was less easy to discern.

Elrod pushed his way forward, looking over his shoulder as he did. He realized almost instantly that he had made a horrible mistake. In his rush and confusion, he had decided that a crowd would hide him better than any decaying access tunnel ever could. This was true- -but it worked too well. He had not gotten a good look at his attackers, and now they too were invisible amongst the endless sea of anonymous faces.

Only once before had Elrod ever been to SteelPoint City. It had been to perform a deal that his normal buyer would not accept. Almost none of the vendors or transfer companies in this district were well-vetted, and transferring things of dubious origin was easier than with legitimate companies.

It was a place he had hoped never to return to. It was certainly not large by Bridgeport standards- -the Enterprise Zone Center dwarfed it by several orders of magnitude, and even the Hollow Hill was vastly more extensive- -but it was excessively large for Elrod. He began to breathe hard as panic started to set in.

Without thinking, he walked up to a woman. She was shorter than him, with her hair shaved on one side. Her clothing was rugged but shiny, and her eyes were blind, their function having been replaced by a visor that covered them.

“Excuse me,” said Elrod. “Please, I need help!” He shivered. That was almost exactly what the pony had said to him before she had died. Now he was repeating the cycle. He desperately hoped that his conclusion would not be the same as hers had been.

The woman looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. Elrod’s half-visor buzzed and hissed in response to the signal from the app she was attempting to use to communicate. He did not have it installed; his system did not run them. When the woman realized this, she looked immensely disgusted and put a hand on his shoulder. Then, with one swift motion, she threw him out of her way.

Elrod went sprawling through the crowd as people swore at him. Rather than falling, though, he felt himself strike something large and heavy. He turned around to see that it was metal- -and then looked up to see a fully-suited delver standing over him.

The delver pushed Elrod back and swore at him. Through the immense armored suit he wore- -to the point where the location of his head, if he even had one, was impossible to determine- -he spoke loudly in Standard Language, the combination of Georgian and Bantu that was almost universal throughout Connecticut. Elrod, unfortunately, was at a disadvantage; he spoke only English and enough Flemish to ask for supplies from the older members of the Wong family. Standard Language was impossible for him to decipher, especially through the heavy distortion of the delver’s audio system.

A hand suddenly took Elrod by the shoulder. He looked at it, and to his horror realized that it was far larger than a human hand and covered in extensive scars. As he watched, a set of retractable claws emerged from the end of the fingers and dug into his shoulder. He was then twisted around to face a second delver. This one wore an almost animal-like mask attached to breathing tubes and thermal stabilizers. From the shape of it, it was quite clear that the face underneath was by no means human.

The second delver spoke in a different language, one that sounded more like a liquid gurgle than any real words. The claws dug deeper into Elrod’s shoulder and he cried out softly, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

“Stop! Stop! I’m sorry! It was an accident!”

The animal-masked delver spoke in something almost like English. “Sorry meaning little has!”

He was promptly interrupted by a commotion, and his friend’s optics rotated. The larger of the two then spoke. “Ma’polits,” he said. It was one of the few Standard Language words that Elrod knew, and when the clawed delver released him he sprung away, ducking through the crowd and approaching an outdoor display of various horrid smelling meats. He looked over his shoulder to see a small group walking through the crowd, causing it to clear somewhat as they did. The leader of them was a male pony who wore a hooded tunic underneath dark-colored armor. Following him were three enormous drones, all of them heavily armored and weaponized. Each of them bore the sign of a white letter “A” transposed over a blue colored “+”. In the pony’s case, he wore it on an armor plate on his shoulder. The drones had it printed on their chests. It was the insignia of Aetna-Cross, the prime-vassal of at least a third of Bridgeport.

As Elrod watched, a woman ran up to them. “Excuse me!” she cried. “Excuse me!”

The lead pony stopped, and the drones did as well.

“Identity?” he said, sounding terribly annoyed.

“My purse, they took my purse! I- -everything I had was in there, all my money, I can’t- -”

There was a thin pulse of red light from one of the drones as it covered the woman’s face. The information was relayed to their commander.

“Out of the way,” he said, now sounding outright angry.

The woman looked panicked. “Please! No! I- -I’ll do anything! Give you anything! If you get it back, you can have half- -three quarters! Just please- -”

“You are not of relevance,” said the pony. “Nor are you a registered part of our provider-network. Now get out of our way, or I will eliminate you.”

The woman burst into tears, but she still stepped aside. One of the heavy drones pushed past her, and the pony never gave her a second look. Instead, he turned his attention toward the pair of delvers.

“You two are not operating transmission beacons,” he said. “I need to see your exploration permits. NOW.”

The crowd around the pair stiffened and separated from the group, half expecting the two- -who might very well have been illegal in this area- -to pick a fight. To fight the police, however, was invariably a futile effort. The larger of the two extended an arm and projected a hologram as he began to attempt to find the necessary paperwork.

As he did, one of the drones turned its optics toward Elrod. Elrod immediately turned away as calmly as he could, pretending as though he had not found any meat to his liking. He had not, of course, but that was not the point. It was absolutely critical that the police drone not scan his face. If it did, the situation could become far worse than it already was.

Without knowledge of the area, Elrod was not able to move quickly or consistently through the heavily urbanized district. He still progressed forward, though, always keeping a close lookout for anything threatening. To him, though, everything was. The paranoia was crushing.

Eventually, though, he found himself in a more heavily industrialized area. The machinery was grafted to one of the vast mile-wide support columns that held up the upper levels of the city, and it seemed to extend both downward and upward. Elrod did not know what purpose it served, but from the shape and the enormous pipes- -which were themselves dwarfed width of the column- -that stretched in both directions, he assumed that it was probably meant to pull and purify water from the Depths.

The light here was more dim, but looking up Elrod was able to see the twinkling of a city in the difference. He did not know the name of that district, or if it was still even in Steel Point. It appeared to be a residential area clinging to the side- -or even dug into- -the concrete casing of the support.

That was where he decided to go. This in itself was a risk: it required him to move deeper into the industrial area to where there were far fewer people, and to wait for a vertical transport. This put him at greater risk of attack. With every step he took he was sure he could feel eyes watching him from the high catwalks of the unoccupied and unlit industrial machinery surrounding him.

The worst by far was standing still and waiting for the elevator to arrive. Elrod felt his breathing accelerating, and could not help but feel more and more afraid with every second as he worried if it would ever come, or if when it did arrive he would be nothing but a corpse on the concrete below. He found himself desperately wishing that someone would come up and wait beside him- -but at the same time, he knew that he might very well have screamed in terror if someone did, or fainted as he waited for them to slowly pull a knife and hold it to his throat.

In truth, he did not need to wait long. An elevator did arrive, having come up from the maintenance levels below. It was an industrial service elevator, and Elrod was not sure if it was meant for civilian use or not. Normally causing trouble was something he liked to avoid, but at this point he did not even care. He would force his way on if he had to.

It did not come down to that. The elevator door ground open, and excessively bright white light flooded the access bridge. Elrod shielded his eyes for a moment but still stepped forward, getting on before anyone could try to stop him. He heard the door shut behind him.

When his vision adjusted, Elrod looked around the elevator to realize that he was not alone. There were two other passengers already. One of them was a pony, specifically a Fluttershy. That was the only type that Elrod knew the name of. Fluttershys, he knew, were the pale yellow ones with pink hair and small, soft wings on their backs. This one indeed met those characteristics: her pink mane was tied back into, of all things, a ponytail, and her pony trail was covered in a utilitarian lattice wrap. Her uniform was clean and pressed and bore a serial number printed on the front left collar, indicating that she was an engineer in one of the facilities below.

She turned her head, noticing that Elrod was staring. Like all ponies, her eyes were freakishly large, to the point where Elrod was sure he could see the expensive optics below their surface churning to adjust the internal lenses.

“Hello there,” she said, smiling.

“Hi,” said Elrod. “Nice uniform.”

“Oh, why thank you!” she said, blushing slightly. The idea of a pony blushing somehow made Elrod deeply uncomfortable.

The other passenger was a large industrial drone. It did not seem to be paired with the Fluttershy, but rather seemed to be traveling in accordance with its own programming. This particular drone appeared quite old; its body had at one time been painted brown, but its armor was now scuffed and scraped in places and showed primer through the surface paint. Its back and side also contained pink and violet colored graffiti written in a squarish script that was most certainly not Standard Language.

The drone did not react to Elrod’s presence. It had no need to. Unlike the police drones, it was not built to be observant. It was most likely designed to lift things, or to perform simple operations or inspections in machinery that no one had otherwise bothered to automate.

“So,” said the Fluttershy, “are you going up to visit Support Station Twelve?”

Elrod paused for a moment, as he could not tell if she was speaking to the drone or to him. When she looked over her shoulder- -something not at all difficult to do for a being whose eyes took up at least eight percent of her head- -and looked at him, though, he knew that she was trying to make conversation.

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s a nice place. Much less crime than the City. Not very safe, though, but better. Less delvers. Are you going to be a new worker, or are you visiting family?”

Elrod thought for a moment. “Just passing through.”

“Oh, a traveler! How lovely! I’ve been meaning to travel myself, but it’s just so very…daunting. I’ve wanted to see Pittsburg, but with the War…”

“The War has been over for years.” Elrod said it with conviction, as he knew it quite well.

“Well, yes, but you can never be too careful.”

The Fluttershy fell silent, and the elevator continued to trundle upward. It was briefly possible to catch views of SteelPoint City below through the industrial machinery that overlooked it, but the view was mostly dark and empty. Despite this gloomy outlook, Elrod felt himself calming down. Anyone who had been following him clearly had not gotten into the elevator with him, meaning that they would either have to wait for the next one or find another way. By the time they got up to Support Station Twelve, Elrod would be long gone. He would have lost them, and his primary decision from there was about where to go next. The decision, to him, was obvious: he would return to his own district and go home. That would probably take a while, but he knew that as soon as he found himself back in his well-worn chair he would know that it had been worth it.

Yet, for some reason, even though he knew he was safe, Elrod could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the elevator seemed to shift. The Fluttershy grimaced slightly and put one of her pale hooves to her head, as though she were suffering from a migraine. She shook it off, though, and went back to smiling. In fact, she even started humming to herself. Elrod did not recognize the tune.

The drone, however, began to act strangely. It shuddered and shook for a moment, and released several low tones that probably would have meant something to its handler. Elrod watched it, not understanding why it was behaving strangely. Robots were by definition reliable, and although he had never worked closely with them he knew that this was abnormal behavior.

Then in an instant the drone’s optics swiveled across its body and locked onto Elrod. Elrod’s heart sank as all the relief he had felt before washed away from him, replaced by the panic that he had been fleeing from.

The drone struck out. One multi-jointed, snake-like arm shot across the elevator in a wide arc. Elrod barely managed to dodge it. The drone was old and slow, but faster than a human and immensely strong. Elrod was sure that its arm would crash through the back of the elevator and derail it, but to his surprise the effector claw stopped millimeters from the wall.

A second blow came a moment later, and Elrod was not able to dodge this one. He was struck in the chest and thrown backward so hard that his visor was nearly knocked off. The entire elevator shook from his impact against the wall.

The effector at the end of the drone’s arm shifted, cycling through several tools before assembling itself into something roughly equivalent to a long, rusty blade. Elrod had no idea why an industrial robot would need a blade like that, but he did not really have time to ponder the question. The robot struck again, and Elrod was forced to duck.

“Fluttershy!” he called, looking to the pony for help. “HELP!”

She did not respond. In fact, she did not even take her eyes off the transparent front of the elevator. She just kept staring, smiling, and humming to herself.

“Oh come on!” cried Elrod in desperation. “I wasn’t trying to be rude! Don’t be like that!”

The drone stepped forward and Fluttershy ducked, allowing it motion for another blow toward Elrod. Elrod had to dodge again, although the blade cut a partial hole in his coat. He was not wearing any sort of armor underneath, as he had never had cause to do so. The decision to omit it was now something he regretted, even if it would have done him little good in a fight like this.

The robot’s blade had missed his body, but its arm twisted suddenly to strike him in the shoulder. He was knocked down and went sliding toward the door. It was closed, of course, but it would not have done much good if it was open. Outside was a drop that quite possibly led to the Depths themselves. There was no way out. He was trapped.

“Fluttershy!” he pleaded, looking up at the pony. “Please!”

She still did nothing. She did not even look at him, or acknowledge his presence.

“COME ON!” repeated Elrod in anger. He did not know exactly how a pony- -especially a Fluttershy- -could help him, but he could do nothing himself. On a normal day, he might have had his tools with him, but he had not bothered to bring them. There was no reason for him to; he had just been taking a walk to the store for supplies. This was another decision he found himself regretting.

The drone turned toward him again and took several heavy steps on its short legs. Elrod whimpered and looked to the Fluttershy once more. She still did not return his gaze, but this time he saw something glinting under the outer jacket of her uniform. It was a holster.

“Fine!” he said, reaching into her coat and pulling out a pistol. “If you won’t help me, at least let me borrow this!”

The drone moved to strike, but Elrod raised the oddly large gun and fired. The sound was deafening, and a plume of fire seemed to shoot from the barrel. Elrod did not get much of a chance to see it, though, because the pistol immediately leapt from his hands and slammed into his face.

He swore loudly and grabbed his face in pain. His eyes were watering, but he still saw a single shell casing drop to the floor. It was a massive straight-walled piece of brass almost as big as his hand.

“Seven hundred?” he said in disbelief. He looked up to Fluttershy, who had not even flinched or reacted in any way to the sound of the enormous cartridge being fired. “What the hell do you need a seven-hundred for?!”

The drone bellowed an error message, and Elrod looked up at it. By a stroke of sheer luck, he had managed to shoot it in the shoulder. In the case of a human, a .700 to the shoulder probably would have removed their arm. To the drone, however, it had instead only managed to shear most of the connections to the limb. Elrod was relieved- -if only for a moment- -to see that the old drone did not have a decentralized motor control system. The arm twitched and hung limply from its side and had begun to pull away from the torso at the joint.

In a way, luck had befallen Elrod twice. He picked up the pistol again from where it had fallen, and pointed it once again at the drone. Any smaller weapon probably would have done minimal damage, or required far more precise shooting. Elrod was not a soldier, nor had he ever been; he had no idea what he was doing- -but he had a massive gun and an equivalently large target, so he could quickly gather what he needed to do.

He fired again. This time, he did his very best to hold onto the pistol. It was not easy, and he really had no hope of aiming. The drone’s armor sparked in response, and a hole appeared in it. The semiautomatic slider of the pulled back and a shell fell to the floor. Elrod fired another. This time the drone did step back, and it shuddered violently. The fourth shot hit it in the optics, and the fifth one felled it completely. It dropped to its knees and then slumped forward. Elrod barely managed to push the Fluttershy out of the way in time to avoid them both being crushed.

He paused and stared for a second. It had been a long time since he had felt so tired, and he realized that he was shaking. The drone was leaking various colored fluids onto the floor, and Elrod even more desperately wished that he had brought his tools. It technically belonged to some corporation or utility, but cut up no one would know the difference. Even an old and badly damaged drone was still worth something.

What felt like minutes passed while Elrod ruminated on this thought, knowing fully well that there was nothing more he could do apart from remembering to pick up the .700 casings for resale. By about the time he was preparing to retrieve them, though, the elevator stopped and opened.

The Fluttershy immediately stepped forward and exited.

“Miss!” called Elrod, holding up the pistol. “You forgot your…oh, never mind. It’s mine now.”

He stood up himself and stepped out the door. As horrible as the experience with the drone had been, his mind was now made up. Robots did not attack on their own volition. Somebody was trying to kill him, and they were not going to stop anytime soon. Returning to his apartment would be a death sentence. He could not go home, nor did he have anywhere else to go.

His only option was to try to find help.