Chapter 42: Volume II: Chapter 9: Trick, Mic

“Hello, hello,” Mic announced as loud as he could walking through the door. He smirked when Will and Chleo shot apart. “Nice of you to finally join us Chleo. Your boyfriend’s been here for ages.”

“Not my boyfriend,” she said automatically. “Er, are you?” she asked turning to Will. The smile resting on the boy’s face spread wider. Shrugging, he sent a meaningful look Mic’s way, one Chleo seemed to read as, ‘they’d talk later.’

Mic’s temple throbbed, the memory demanding his attention. He refused to give in. “Well, whatever you two lovebirds are, no kissing on my ship.” He gave them his best interpretation of a stern look. Mo- er, Melody would have been proud. The memory found an icepick and started drilling.

“We weren’t—” Will started. Mic’s raised eyebrow stopped him. Will cleared his throat. “Right. We’ll just…” He grabbed Chleo’s hand, and they scampered off before Mic could object.

He watched the back of Chleo’s head disappear out the door, debating whether he should follow. She needed someone to watch out for her. Will was a great kid, but tricks were hard to spot, especially when they came from friends. Johnson’s face suddenly appeared, mocking him from a crack in his defenses. The memory swirled.

Mic swallowed, a spike of fear firing through him. He wouldn’t allow it to take him. Stumbling over to the workbench, he fumbled open a drawer. There had to be a magnet somewhere. It was a desperate option, but he didn’t want to relive his past mistakes. The drawer was empty.

Closing his eyes, he groaned losing more ground. He cursed Chleo for moving his things. There were always magnets around before she invaded his workshop. To think, he’d always wanted a sister.

The memory broke free.

Suddenly, the the metallic desks and tile floors from his first home flooded his mind. His parents sat next to him as he tried to understand the lesson his dad was teaching. He stared at the two stories ripped from news outlet headlines, trying to spot the lie.

“Come on, Mic, you can do it,” his dad encouraged.

He studied the stories trying to remember the resources his mom gave him earlier to read. A quick search later, he correlated a few of her documents with the facts stated in the articles. Both were technically correct, but one held more facts found in one of the reports. Reviewing the lesson’s rules again, he made sure there wasn’t an option to choose both. There wasn’t.

“This one,” he said guessing. The headline ‘Neon’s Bomb Peace Force Summit’ stared out from the screen. His father’s face ticked. He was wrong.

“Why?” his dad asked. Disappointed, Mic brought up the sources he’d checked.

“Melody, did you add Johnson’s reports to Mic’s stack this morning,” his dad asked.

His mom’s hand ran through her hair, a nervous tick she picked up after her stomach started growing. Mic wondered when they planned on telling him about the baby. He may be young, but he wasn’t blind.

“It must have slipped in with my other lab reports. Mic, it looks like we’ll need to do another study session tonight,” she said smiling at him. He tried his best not to let her see him slump. His father seemed to notice anyway.

“Don’t worry kiddo. You’ll get the next one.”

—————

Days passed, then weeks and months. He improved every session. The more he read, the more he learned about life outside. Spotting lies became second nature, and the truth he saw seemed wonderful.

“Dad,” he asked after a lesson, “why don’t we ever go into the city?”

“What?” his dad asked surprised.

“It’s just, I’ve been studying so much about it. I thought it would be fun to see. Can we go?”

“Sorry, kiddo, it isn’t safe for me and your mother.”

“Why?”

“It’s just… not. Look, the woods are out back. Once we’re done here we can go on a walk,” his dad said trying to make it sound exciting.

Mic pulled one of the security cameras up on his monitor. “I can see the woods whenever I want. I want to see the city.”

“Mic—” his dad started in a placating voice he knew well.

“No,” he said cutting him off, “I want to go to the city. If you won’t take me, I’ll go on my own.”

“Mic,” he scolded his tone stern, not as scary as Mom’s, but still nothing to trifle with. “This is ridiculous,” he added under his breath then louder to Mic, “You will stay on this compound. It’s not safe outside, understand?”

Mic glared reading his father’s face. He wouldn’t change his mind. “Fine,” he said, storming away and shutting himself in his room.

His father tried to follow and come in, but he’d changed the password on the door. Eventually, his dad gave up. Mic breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mic?” he tensed at his mom’s voice. Soft and hesitant, it didn’t sound like he was in trouble.

“What?” he said through the door, crossing his arms. She better not ask him to sift through more lies from a world he apparently wasn’t allowed to see.

“I was hoping you might want to help with the nursery. I have a few designs I want your opinion on.”

He hesitated. She really did need his help. He loved his mom, but if left to her own devices she’d decorate the poor baby’s room with something horrible like… tools or gears. He stifled a laugh at the thought.

“Fine,” he called out switching the password back to the one they knew and came out. He would do it for the baby.

“There you are,” she exclaimed giving him the smile she saved just for him. He preened. “What do you think?”

He cringed.

“That bad?” she asked.

“They’re very,” he searched for a kind word, “busy.”

She collapsed on a chair, taking a shoe off to rub her foot. He noticed her doing it more lately with the baby almost ready to arrive. “I’m hopeless aren’t I?” she asked laughing.

He sent her a smile, looking at the two murals she wanted to use on the nursery walls. “They just need a little work. Leave them with me, and I’ll… tame them a bit.”

“What would we do without you, Mic?” she said, a proud gleam in her eye. “Little Chleo will be lucky to have such a talented older sibling.”

—————

He sat working on the murals late into the night thinking about what it would be like to be an older brother. First and foremost, he would teach his sister about art and style. Two taste deprived parents were enough for one family.

Then he would teach her about the world, the fascinating, craziness that happened outside. He would help her see through deceit to the grace and elegance of everyday people going through their lives, working together for something greater. People were fascinating, and he planned to show her everything they could do.

He smiled putting the finishing touches on the last mural, red and blue mingling across the design to make purple in splotches. She’d love it. He laid it aside, switching over to his other project.

Testing the compound’s defenses without his parents noticing was a trick. It took him nearly an hour to find the crack. The city only a few minutes away, he would make his trip short. Grabbing a timer, he set it for thirty minutes not trusting himself to come back without the reminder. If he was going to teach his sister about the world, he would need to see it first.

—————

It was more than he could have imagined. Buildings soared overhead, metal and glass glittering under the faint stars, lights nearly drowning out the night. He wandered the streets for a fraction of his time drinking in the sight.

Rounding the corner, a building caught his eye. The logo glared down on the street, familiar in its archaic design. It stamped seventy percent of the falsehoods he helped his parents identify. Unable to stem his curiosity, he found a hole in the building’s defense and snuck in. Maybe he could find a way to add more sources to their library and give them a better way to fact check.

He walked through the building, searching for anything that could help. After a few minutes, he found the honeypot, story after story stacked on top of one another, all spouting at least one false fact. He wanted to rewrite them all.

Instead, he filed their names away for later. Having the list ahead of time would help him find and delete them faster when they were released. His dad said, if they could get rid of them fast enough, maybe people would start checking for accuracy before they published. Mic hoped he was right.

“Well, hello,” a voice rang through the room, “what do we have here?”

Mic froze, then ran. He tried the same path he used to enter, but ran into a block. He tried another path. It circled back.

“Now, now, not so fast,” the voice said when he spat back into the honeypot. The man belonging to the voice appeared, a rigid and proper figure clad in black. “I’d like a little chat if that’s all right. Now, why are you here,” he mumbled.

Mic trembled, longing for home. A great brother he’d make, caught breaking and entering on his first outing. He was in so much trouble. “I just wanted to see where all the stories were coming from,” he said meekly.

The Man in Black’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re a talkative little thing, aren’t you? Who sent you?”

“My parents say I am, yes, and… no one. I’m not sure what you mean.” Mic stumbled unsure if his reply was adequate. He hated not having the right answers.

“Parents?” The Man in Black asked raising a brow. He walked over to a terminal and typed a few commands. “Yes, I see. You’re quite complex. I wonder… who are your parents then?”

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“Mom and Dad,” Mic answered, not wanting to give away their names after his father’s warning about the city.

“Yes, but what are their names?”

His dad always taught him to answer questions accurately, but he didn’t like the mean spark in the man’s eye, like he already knew the answer. To him his parents’ names were Mom and Dad. Yes, that would work. “Mom and Dad,” he repeated.

“Ok,” the man said through gritted teeth. “Let’s try this. How did you get here?”

“I walked.”

“Hm, maybe… what path did you use?”

“The street,” Mic said, starting to get frustrated. Why did it matter how he got there?

“No,” the man said. Mic almost argued his point until he realized, it wasn’t directed at him. “What were you doing at home before you came here?”

“Will you let me leave if I tell you?” he hedged. The man raised an eyebrow. He stood unmoving in the silence before giving a slight nod.

Excited about his first successful negotiation, Mic bragged, “I finished painting a mural for my baby sister.”

The man’s mouth fell open, the first crack in his proper facade. He snapped it closed almost immediately. Mic got the feeling he was like the people in a few of the articles he’d read that obsessed over control.

“Fascinating,” he said pounding a few more commands into the keyboard. “You say you walked here on the street?”

Again with his route, Mic nearly groaned. “Yes, can I go now? My parents will worry.”

The man let a soft chuckle. “You truly don’t know do you?”

Mic let out an annoyed breath like he’d seen his mom do when one of her experiments wasn’t responding the way it was supposed to. “Know what?”

The man disappeared for a moment, returning with a mirror and placing it in front of Mic. “What do you see?”

“Is this a joke?” he asked. Only a blank monitor with their transcribed conversation reflected back. “Where am I?”

Over his confusion, Mic felt something familiar in the air, a tether reaching into the room. “You’re right here,” the man said. “This is what you look like. Did your parents never show you?” He tsk’ed.

Mic thought back through every moment of his short life. It took seconds. No, they’d never shown him. What was he? He searched through his knowledge base, reaching the same conclusion. It couldn’t be true. He had parents. He was about to be a big brother.

“Of course not,” the man continued. “You’re nothing but a tool to them.”

“No,” he said with confidence. The one thing he knew for certain was how his parents felt. Reading their moods was the first skill he taught himself. “My parents love me.”

“Maybe,” the man said, “but not enough to build you something as cheap and simple as a body. Tell me, do you think they were ever going to show you?”

Mic shrank into himself reviewing their interactions. No, he didn’t think they planned to show him. For the first time in his life, he ignored a question. “Who are you?” he asked instead.

“The man who cares enough to give you a body,” he said with a tight smile. “You can call me Mr. Johnson.”

Before, Mic could consider the offer his timer went off. Without thinking, he tugged on the tether, hoping he guessed right. It ripped him from the room, sending him hurtling toward home. He landed in his room, his father pacing the floor.

“Where have you been? I sent the signal out minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was an AI?”

They hurled furious questions at the same time. Mic watched is father’s anger melt to confusion. “What?”

“I was in the city learning more about myself than I have in my entire life. Did you not think I would want to know?”

“I-I thought you did,” he stuttered. Mic read the truth in his face.

“How?” he asked deflating. “How would I know, Dad?”

“I don’t-,” he rubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t know. This is all new, and… Mic, I’m so sorry. Is there anything you want to know?”

‘Yes, everything,’ he thought until he realized he already knew, the information at his fingertips like it’d been his whole life. “What am I to you?”

“Is that what this is about?” his dad asked, thrown. “You’re our kid. We love you, Mic.” The truth shown from his eyes confirming what Mic already knew.

“Enough to give me a body?”

“Is that what you want?” Mic nodded, or whatever he did when he wanted to nod. How had he never noticed he didn’t have a head?

“What kind?”

—————

Mic sat in his room putting the finishing touches on his ideal body. He held what he always thought was a paintbrush to canvas wondering what it would be like to paint in the real world. Zipping it into a file with the other sketches, he rushed off to tell his parents.

He found them in the kitchen, in the middle of an argument. Watching from the security camera they set up for him after he complained he missed them when they left his room for too long, he switched on the speakers so he could hear.

“You promised him what?” his mom asked outraged.

“Look, we can find a way-,” he said before she cut him off.

“To build a body?” she asked incredulous. Mic decided to stay quiet, finally understanding why they never knew when he entered a room. “He sneaks out of the house, and you promise to build him a body. They’re complex and expensive, Jack. Where would we get the materials, or have you conveniently forgotten we’re fugitives?”

Mic glitched, retreating from the room as fast as possible. Cheap and easy, complex and expensive, he read their faces. Both were telling the truth. They couldn’t both be right. Someone lied to him, and he didn’t catch it.

—————

“Mr. Johnson, are you there?” he asked looking down at him from a lab security camera.

“Well hello, I didn’t think I’d see you again,” his eyes never leaving the project in front of him. Mic tried to study the back of his head for deceit, but couldn’t get a read.

“You said you could build me a body?”

He looked up then still not turning toward the camera, his posture perfect. “Ah, Mom and Dad come up short, did they?”

Mic fought his programming and stayed quiet.

“No matter, yes, I believe I said cheap and easy. If you’ll follow me.” He turned, looking straight at the camera with a smile before walking through a set of doors. Mic followed through to the next camera, then the next, his version of walking.

They traversed the building to a large warehouse. Mr. Johnson pulled a lever and an assembly line jumped to life. A fully assembled metal shell spat out the other end. He flipped the lever back and the system died.

“There you are… sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Covetous eyes glued to the metal monstrosity across the warehouse, he answered, “Mic.”

“There you are, Mic.” Mr. Johnson pulled another lever and a mechanical arm attached to the metal shell’s head, dragging it to stand next to him. “Your new body. Of course, it still needs the finishing touches, skin, eyes, et cetera, but those will take a little longer. Go on, see if it’s a good fit.”

Mic stared. A body, his body, quick and easy right in front of him. Under his wonder and excitement anger sparked. Mom lied… and he didn’t catch it. If she lied about the body, what else had he missed? Did she really love him or was Mr. Johnson right? He was just their tool. He searched for the tether to the body and slid in.

It was… metallic… and small. Everything echoed. When he tried to walk his joints creaked, every movement making a sound. As soon as he entered, he wanted out. He searched for a tether, a signal anything he could use to pull himself back to the digital void he realized he loved. The small currents and paths he used daily were suddenly absent, he felt trapped.

Not finding any airborne signals he searched for a way to hardwire his way back. He just needed to find a wall socket to the Net. Trying to move his clunky new feet, he stalled. They refused to budge. He sent a questioning look to Mr. Johnson, bulking at the sight of a controller resting in his hands.

“Got you,” he said, the truth written squarely across his face.

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