A gulp of air brought him back to life. Upside down and held by the seatbelt, Vincent felt his hair brushing against what used to be the car’s roof. The sharp chemical stench of the smoke coming from the lithium batteries snapped him fully awake. The gas surrounding him, sweet and suffocating, was the unmistakable sign that the battery integrity had been compromised.

  He unbuckled the belt and dropped onto the crushed roof of the car. That’s when he noticed the sharp pain in his side. A broken rib. Adrenaline pushed him forward. Ignoring the burning with every movement, he crawled out of the vehicle through a mix of gravel, dirt, and shattered glass.

  Seconds after his escape, an intense flame, like that of a blowtorch, burst from the base of the car. He had survived by pure luck, but he knew he wasn’t safe yet.

  This car is a beacon… I’m practically inviting them to kill me.

  He limped off the road. He wasn’t too far from the estate, but it was safer to cut across the open field than to risk more exposure.

  Sons of bitches… they’ll pay for this. When they go bankrupt, I’ll have every one of those filthy pigs killed.

  Rage was the only thing keeping him awake. He could feel that his injuries were much worse than they seemed. With every step, the metallic taste of blood grew stronger on his tongue.

  "Once I get to the estate…"

  He voiced his thoughts, hoping to believe them himself.

  "Once I get there, I’ll be fine."

  The estate he was heading to wasn’t under his name either, and he knew the security team waiting there was loyal. Crowned by a massive brutalist mansion, it was where he had been working on his invention in absolute secrecy.

  He could see the entrance in the distance, so far and yet so close. He wanted to call for help, but that would reveal his position.

  The ambient noise was dominated by his ragged breathing, his uneven footsteps, and the crackling of the burning car. Suddenly, an explosion lit up the surroundings, casting a fleeting flash across the sky.

  Something reflected the light within the shadows.

  A drone.

  It hovered at a distance, tracking his movements.

  "S-shit…"

  He quickened his pace. If they wanted him dead, he already would be. A civilian had no chance against a military drone. It didn’t fire, didn’t interfere with his escape. It only watched.

  They want me to lead them to my lab.

  He knew it. And still, he kept going. The alternative was dying out in the open field.

  With the drone’s hum still behind him, he ran desperately toward the estate’s gate. He tried to call for help, but raising his arms made the broken rib stab him from the inside. Fearful, he shouted, feeling the drone’s gaze drilling into the back of his neck. About twenty meters away, the security post’s lights blinded him; he couldn’t make out anything. He signaled for help, but no one came to his rescue.

  "H-hey… you useless android! Anti-air protocol!"

  He yelled, hoping it was just a glitch or the machine’s slow reaction time. There was no response… His security never showed up. And they didn’t stop him either.

  Unable to trust anyone, he had used prototype androids as his estate’s security. With synthetic skin and robotic movements, they weren’t fit for general use, but from a distance, they worked well enough… or at least they used to.

  Even though they were just machines, their humanoid appearance made the scene impossible to face without terror. Their circuits were scattered across the wall like brains, and hydraulic fluid slid slowly down the bulletproof glass like blood. The sight churned his stomach and forced him to crouch, fearing snipers might be lying in wait.

  But once on the ground, kneeling among the robotic corpses, he noticed something about the guard post’s glass.

  The glass is intact…

  He examined the armored panels. The shots had come from inside.

  Hacking? No… if that were the case, they would have used them against me.

  He forced himself to inspect the bodies. The shots had come from below. He looked around nervously, checking under tables and behind the desk. He scanned the floor of the guard post for any small assassin robot, but found nothing.

  He rose cautiously, stepping back a couple of paces. Whatever had killed his androids was still lurking.

  Whatever killed them is still here… I have to be careful…

  He picked up one of the rifles from the ground and checked its condition. It was a little dirty from the blackish hydraulic fluid, but it worked perfectly.

  The magazine’s full.

  He checked the chamber. Not a single shot had been fired.

  Whatever it was… they didn’t see it coming.

  Click.

  He released the slide and prepared to move out.

  Peeking through the door, he saw nothing outside, not even the drone. The only sound was the cicadas singing under the sweltering summer heat… far too calm. No one was coming to rescue him. His only chance of survival was in the lab. The one advantage he had was that they didn’t know what was in there.

  "They think they have me cornered… fine. Better let them think that."

  He muttered some words of confidence before stepping out, as if trying to convince himself he was still in control. He was faking security… but expecting the worst. He took a breath and set one foot outside. The next second was critical.

  He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to stop time. Every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for the blast that would blow his brains out… But nothing happened.

  Cautiously, he glanced at the ground. There was nothing there. He had survived.

  "Bah…"

  He exhaled in relief. Whatever had killed his androids wasn’t here. If it were, he’d already be dead.

  "Alright… now we’re good."

  He composed himself and locked his gaze on his target. His imposing brutalist mansion blended into the hill it rested upon. By his own specifications, a long stretch of two hundred meters separated it from the entrance. Enough space to admire its fa?ade without interruption.

  He cursed his vanity. There was nothing to use as cover along that stretch. He had no choice but to advance exposed, using only the decorative grasses along the path as improvised concealment. He jogged cautiously with his head low. The posture caused unbearable pain, but adrenaline helped him push through it.

  "What destroyed my androids did it from below… this is the safest way."

  He whispered to himself, trying to convince his body to hold on a little longer.

  Every shadow could hide an ambush. The remains of destroyed androids scattered along the path were a constant reminder of it. The wind shook the bushes, and his eyes scanned them one by one for any suspicious movement, but the blood loss was beginning to blur his vision. He had surrendered to it. He felt that if he had to die now, there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was grit his teeth… and hope for the best.

  Every meter he advanced intensified the feeling that he was being watched. As if they were waiting for the smallest glimmer of hope to appear in his heart just so they could blow his brains out. All of it as mockery… a punishment for having humiliated them. He could almost see their faces laughing at him… their fake pearly teeth peeking out from between their snouts.

  His hatred helped him endure the fear, but it also clouded his judgment and made him act rashly. He straightened up and ran the last thirty meters to the entrance.

  If I’m going to die, I’ll do it standing.

  Right after, a whistle grazed the back of his neck. The crack of the gunshot made him quicken his pace. Death still had no form; he didn’t dare look. He could only hear the faint, rhythmic sound of robotic footsteps following him.

  He sprinted the last few meters without slowing and slammed into the entrance. The impact bounced him back against the massive lead door, his head smacking it before he collapsed to the ground. A spark appeared right where his forehead had hit the metal. If he had slowed down, whatever was chasing him would have had a clean shot.

  It was obvious it wasn’t human… and it didn’t seem like they wanted to keep him alive. He was starting to doubt his own sanity.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Was I really hearing a drone? Maybe it was just a delivery unit… or maybe it wasn’t military…?

  That thought crossed his mind in the microsecond it took for his backside to hit the ground. A sliver of hope still lingered inside him… He counted on the possibility they didn’t actually want him dead. Maybe they wanted information, or simply to scare him.

  When he turned his head, that illusion vanished.

  A small four-legged robot, with an arm instead of a head, adjusted its aim at him. Usually used to inspect factories and popular with the public for their dog-like appearance, this version differed from commercial models. The droid behind him had a far deadlier purpose: in its metallic limb, it firmly held a pistol.

  According to international agreements, commercial-use robots couldn’t be trained for combat… This one shouldn’t have been able to use a weapon. And yet, it was doing exactly that.

  The fact that it didn’t look like a military robot made it even more terrifying. The idea that a simple household machine had stepped out of its function to take up a weapon with the sole purpose of killing him made him understand the true reach of his enemies.

  The drone that had chased him wasn’t military… it was simply the closest available. The car that had crashed him and the robot now trying to kill him were all mechanisms already in place, just waiting for orders. Nothing that was happening had been set in motion in direct response to what he revealed that day… No. These were measures already embedded in the world, waiting for opposition to stick its head out.

  The rush of thoughts that led him to that realization happened in an instant, but it was enough to freeze him. He was left stunned, his gaze locked on the barrel of the gun. The droid took a few seconds to adjust its aim, and it was then that, purely on reflex, Vincent raised his shoulder to shield himself.

  The bullet struck bone, saving his life.

  The shot knocked him down again. Instinctively, he understood that if he didn’t move, a barrage of bullets would follow the first. He pulled himself up and tried to unlock the door, but his bloodied hand kept the reader from recognizing his identity.

  Another pair of shots flew in his direction. One hit his thigh. The other… he didn’t know where; the blood loss had already begun to numb his body.

  "Cough, cough…"

  He spat blood onto the console. Luckily, he managed to unlock it before the droid filled him with holes.

  As soon as the door opened wide enough to let him through, Vincent leapt into the mansion. A few sparks burst from the frame as more bullets struck the metal. He didn’t know how many rounds had hit him, but he understood the situation was critical when, as he tried to stand, he slipped in his own blood.

  The droid’s rapid, tiny footsteps were closing in fast. The door, made of solid, rustic lead, closed slowly, giving it just enough time to wedge its limb into the gap. Its weapon crossed the threshold, and with no other choice, Vincent threw himself to the left, away from the lab.

  "*Cough*… shit, at this rate I’m not going to make it."

  He limped heavily toward the kitchen; his right leg no longer responded. At that point, he doubted he could reach the lab with the amount of blood he was losing, so he headed instead in search of a first-aid kit.

  The cold, lofty hallways of the mansion echoed with each step reverberating inside them. In the distance, he could still hear the droid struggling with the heavy door, but he forced himself not to lower his guard. The only thing keeping him alive was adrenaline.

  Once in the kitchen wing, he dragged himself along the massive quartz wall that adorned the room. The white stone was smeared with red from his shoulder, leaving a trail that led down to the floor. There, lying on the ground, he rummaged through the massive kitchen island.

  He found the backpack and scattered its contents across the floor.

  The first thing he did was grab the combat syringe and stab it into his leg. The substance coursed through his body instantly, clearing his mind and dulling the pain for the moment. Used by the military in critical situations, the syringe gave him just enough time to tend to the rest of his injuries.

  Stitches for the bullet holes, staples to close the torn flesh… There was no way to treat them properly right now. The situation was critical.

  If this had been a regular first-aid kit, he might as well have been dead.

  But it wasn’t.

  "Come on… where is it…?"

  He cursed as he dug through the backpack.

  "Here!"

  From the kit he pulled what looked like a massive mechanical tick: it had a bulbous red body and small metallic legs. As soon as he brought it close to his chest, the creature reacted. Its legs dug into his skin and, with a lash of pain, a needle pierced directly into his heart.

  The tick pulsed and contracted with each passing second. It was designed to replenish blood in critical cases… it took a few pumps, but the artificial blood brought back his life… his clarity.

  The droid… it’s not moving.

  Vincent sharpened his hearing… it seemed safe, so he took a few moments to stitch his wounds.

  Maybe… maybe I’ll survive this.

  He pushed himself upright, leaning against the counter. Thanks to the combat syringe, he could feel his leg, but if he moved too much, the stitches would tear. For a moment… just for a moment, he felt he could still win.

  It isn’t until he sees his reflection in the window that his hopes fade.

  The powerful man who just hours ago was about to bring the world to its knees could now barely stand. His elegant suit was soaked in red, blood and filth… fit for a corpse. The only thing keeping him alive was the pulsating tick latched to his chest. It was hard to comprehend how he was still breathing… if the body was the vessel of the soul, his was on the verge of breaking.

  Behind that dying man loomed an imposing figure. Its torso was massive, and it stood a head taller than him. For a moment, he thought it was a hallucination, a mirage of the man he wished to be… but when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he understood what it truly was.

  Hidden behind his reflection, a humanoid android was watching him from the other side of the glass. Its white shell, lit by the moonlight, concealed a metallic skeleton and powerful servomotors. In its hands, it held a weapon. A shotgun. And it was aiming right at him.

  Mouth agape, Vincent stared at the android as if it were a statue… as if he still believed it hadn’t seen him. It wasn’t until the first shot struck the glass that he finally reacted.

  "Whoa!"

  Vincent yelled and fell backward, as if the impact had hit him. The security glass bulged and cracked as it stopped the pellets.

  His bulletproof windows had saved him, but that didn’t stop the android. It took a few seconds to assess the situation and then fired a couple more times at the same spot.

  If I stay here, I’m dead… I have to reach the lab.

  He ran as the android kept trying to breach the glass. It wouldn’t manage with a conventional shotgun… or at least, not alone.

  "Huh…?"

  Before leaving the kitchen, something at the edge of his vision made him stop. Another android appeared in his periphery. It didn’t bother with the window; instead, it ran in the same direction as him, circling the mansion.

  "No… the door!"

  The mansion’s entrance had been left open thanks to the quadruped droid. They were working together to kill him. There was no time to try to shut it; even if the droid was stuck, it was still lethal.

  In the distance, the screech of the monumental door echoing through the mansion froze his blood.

  They’re here.

  He quickened his pace, trying not to tear open his stitches. The echoes of his labyrinthine mansion distorted the sounds, making the footsteps boom from every direction. He felt as though they were coming from all around him. The heavy tread of the android gave away its position. They weren’t trying to be stealthy.

  One… two… three pairs of footsteps. The main force is here.

  It didn’t take long before the androids were at his heels. Their versatility in movement even allowed them to parkour; catching up to a dying man was no challenge for them. Fortunately, he had already reached his destination.

  The door to the lab was hidden behind a tall wall. Placing his hand on the surface, the monolithic panel rotated on its axis, revealing a dark ramp descending into his lair. He stepped inside and tried to close it, but since he had prioritized the theatrics of his hideout over functionality, the mechanism was far too slow to keep the androids out.

  They’re coming…

  The exterminators were just one hallway away. He had to run.

  The ramp lit up with each step, activating only in his presence. Footsteps turned into a jog, and the jog into a full sprint. Stitches tore, staples came loose, blood splattered the floor. He gave it everything he had. The tick, now empty, detached from his chest… He was on his own.

  Halfway down, the entrance lit up behind him, reacting to the androids’ approach. They were moving so fast that slowing down wasn’t an option.

  At the bottom of the ramp, a glass door awaited him: the real entrance to the lab. The inertia from his descent slammed him into the glass, shattering it into a thousand pieces on impact. He fell to the floor among the transparent shards, but adrenaline pushed him back up.

  The alarm blared, and red lights swept through the darkness of the lab, illuminating a chaos of machinery, crates, and supplies. A labyrinth formed within his cluttered, sprawling workshop. Since he was the only one who worked here, equipment, tubes, and tools were scattered with no regard for outside movement. Stacked boxes rose to the ceiling, over four meters high, forming narrow corridors between unstable structures.

  "Cough… cough."

  He tried to stay silent, but his wounds wouldn’t let him. Blood bubbled in his throat, forcing him to spit to keep from choking.

  Come on, Vincent… don’t pass out.

  Underground, there was only one way out. This was where he kept the original prototype of the teleporter, crude but functional. His plan was to use it to transport himself to one of his remote laboratories. Somewhere there might still be someone he could trust.

  I have friends at the Japan lab… they’re probably working at this hour.

  While preparing the machine, he went over possible escape routes in his head. The androids had already entered. He had to move without being seen. Without raising his head, he connected the cooling hoses to the central unit. As soon as he closed the valve, he flipped the heavy power switch.

  The entire room lit up in an instant.

  Bang! Bang!

  Bullets flew in his direction. They had found him.

  The androids advanced in formation, closing in while Vincent crawled beneath a metal worktable. He slid between tools and loose cables, following the thick tubes that snaked across the floor. They were his only guide toward the teleportation platform. He could hardly see; he could barely feel his own body.

  His hand was bleeding. Bits of skin peeled away as he gripped the hyper-cooled tubes, but he didn’t stop. The illuminated platform rose before him like a staircase to heaven. He was so weak he could barely crawl.

  He had never used it before. Not on himself. The philosophical debate over whether he would still truly be “him” on the other side was something he had always avoided putting to the test. The moment teleportation occurred, every particle of his body would be dismantled and reconstructed on the other end… but what was here, what he was at that moment, would cease to exist.

  Those kinds of technicalities didn’t matter to him now… the real problem was that, even if he was still himself on the other side, his injuries were so severe that not even a medical team could save him.

  "Cough."

  He kept coughing blood. He didn’t have much time left… but there was a solution. Climbing the last step and settling onto the platform, he allowed himself one last question.

  If I teleport a healthy version of myself… will it really be me on the other side?

  His mind tangled with the possible consequences of his invention. He had never believed in the soul as something tangible… but consciousness was real. As long as the same components that sustained it were rebuilt, he could be sure he would still be himself… but what if it wasn’t reconstructed exactly the same?

  At the moment of teleportation, the machine would create a copy of him, rebuilding him with a healthy body. It would use practically all his matter to replicate him… 99%.

  But what would happen to the remaining 1%?

  Already on the platform, he took the wireless control and configured the machine from inside. He selected scan, and blades above his head began to spin, bathing him in light while the data was uploaded to the system.

  He looked down. His torso, covered in blood and torn apart, was a reminder of how close he was to the end. If life and death were a spectrum instead of a binary state, he was already at the darkest extreme. Asking more questions was pointless.

  He lifted his gaze. The androids were already there, shotgun aimed directly at him, finger steady on the trigger.

  Looking down again, he found his red reflection in the pool of his own blood. The deplorable state he was in cleared away any lingering doubt… If the body truly was only a vessel for the spirit, then his was already broken. Its contents were leaving him both figuratively and literally. His sense of self was fading… there was no soul left to preserve.

  Bah… what does it matter if it’s me or not on the other side…

  He cast one last glance at his true self and pressed the button. A blast shook the air at the same time a white flash consumed everything. For an instant, light and sound merged into absolute void. He didn’t know if it had been the machine… or the bullet.

  After all, it’s only matter…