He was a warrior.
Feilding was walking plastic. On the streets, among people, he pushed his way through the tides. If only they knew who they were giving dirty looks, they'd go running, hiding their faces, sheltering loved ones.
He only wanted to get to the Center for protected people. Finish the project, get paid. Fifty money credits was all thy were giving, but it was better than nothing. It would get Kia off his back. That meant a bill or two would get paid, milk nourishment for the baby. Kia wouldn't have to hustle the droids for their credits. Usually she lured them into an empty alley with the promise of sex, Feilding would slice through the back of their synthetic heads with a torch. It was simple. Whenever the militia police would find these mechanical men laying on the pavement with their circuit boards hanging out, they just chalk it up as another abandoned droid.
Feilding hated working anyway. After school, he was pushed into droid sculpture by his father. A business his old man fell into as a young man, inventing, drawing up plans for the look of these mechanical humans. Feilding learned the craft of building the droids skeletons. Trademarking their voices panned out for awhile until the market was glutted.
The Center was a huge glass building that towered over a mini complex of other government buildings, including the Prime director. Even he, as it is just stated on the Media plate, takes his orders from the Center.
Feilding entered the tubeway, that took him several floors. After exiting the tubeway, he stepped on a floor tile and it glided over the metallic floor to office three. In the office, Feilding was greeted by twin Asian secretaries. Clerical work was now delegated to those who shared the same egg, multiples as they are referred to, have stronger minds than a single mind. Memory is much better, but voice in stereo often can put many humans dire straits with epilepsy.
Dr. Cox was there to assist Gen. Sturges. They both sat at a small round table that reminded Feilding of when he was in class one as a three year old. Happy days making mathematical puzzles and creating charts of how many boys and girls were in the class.
“Feeling your oats, son?” Sturges said as he patted Feilding on the shoulder.
Feilding's upper lip curled slightly, he made sure his aluminum lens in hi eyes caught the light to blind the fat old man in the blue army turtle neck that had many medals on the sleeves. “Oats are given to animal in a pasture, so I'm told.” Feilding said.
The General's face showed displeasure by the comment. Dr. Cox motioned for feilding to sit. The small table lit up. A monitor screen had a visual of maps. Maps of brainwaves.
Dr. cox took a small pink pill from a plastic case. “Are you ready?”
“Doing your duty, eh, boy...for your government,” Gen. Sturges had a toothy grin and shaking his fists aggressively. “We need you to try harder this time....”
“No headaches, Feilding?” Dr. Cox took over the conversation from Sturges.
Feilding laughed. “Yeah,” he said. Concern came across Dr. Cox face. “Nothing worse than the hookah drip I had last week.”
Dr. Cox sighed and nodded. General Sturges whispered in Cox ear.
“I need you to concentrate on the opponant. Look for his brainwave, alright?”
“Doc, if I do good, can I have an ice cream later?” Feilding smirked at them.
General Sturges looked sternly at Feilding. Again, Feilding tried to blind the General with his aluminum lens. The General avoided the light by turning slightly. He pressed a glowing yellow button on the tables monitor. Three sharp jolts of electricity entered Feildings body, rendering him physically and mentally numb for a few minutes.
“Don't fuck with us, boy,” Sturges pointed a finger in Feilding's face.
“That will not be necessary again, General,” Cox moved the General's hand away from Feilding. “Tell the General, Feilding, you will be an upstanding soldier.”
Feilding closed his eyes, breathed in the pain, nodded.
When his body calmed down, the shakes subdued, Dr. Cox administered the pink pill to Feilding, who smiled at General Sturges, rolled the pill around his tongue before swallowing it.
Immediately, Feilding's mind was in complete and utter control of General Sturges command. Sturges fingers tapped several glowing red buttons on the table monitor, guiding Feilding through Chinese city of Beijing. Through the populated streets. Crystal buildings and many synthetic bamboo houses.
Inside one of the bamboo houses, stood the enemy. A tall bald Chinese man in leather army fatigues the color of his national flag. Fielding stood ten feet away from him, dressed in leather army fatigues in red, white, and blue.
The Chinese man was obviously being controlled by his country's General and Doctor.
“I've got a line on him, Doctor,” Sturges said. The table monitor showed a flashing light on the map. It was the area where Feilding had entered the Chinese man's brain. Beside that another flashing light showed where the Chinese man was inside Feilding's mind.
Dr. Cox monitored Feilding's vital signs from where he sat, as well as the Chinese man's. In the office next door sat the Chinese man and his Doctor and General. It was how they fought wars now. This being a more covert operation as the two countries are telling their people. What they aren't telling their people is it's to keep both countries economy afloat. When not in war or police action, by NATO standards and practice, it is against the rules to produce little pink pill to fight battles or engage in aggregation against one another.
Feilding struck first.
He created a tiger to attack the man. The tiger circled the Chinese man, then split itself in four version of itself. The Chinese man screamed and curled up in a ball. The tigers leaped into the air and pounced. The Chinese man dissolved into thin air. The tigers attacked each other.
The Chinese man reappeared, holding a fireball in his hands. He released the fireball and it floated towards Feilding. As it started to burn Feilding's skin, Feilding turned his body into liquid, extinguishing the fireball.
Dr. Cox looked concerned. Feilding's blood pressure rose extremely high, too high for this battle. He opened his mouth to say something, but saw the General enthusiastically pushing buttons and typing commands.
Dr. Cox rose from his chair and examined Feilding. “Something's not right,” He told Sturges. Sturges ignored the comment. Cox looked into Feilding's eyes, the pupils were dilated, not jumping around as if he were in REM sleep. “I'm telling you, General Sturges----”
The table monitor was now blank. The map had disappeared. No lights flashing. No sounds either.
Cox looked, and the General was having an epileptic fit, a small stream of blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth.
Cox ran to the General to help him, but he heard a malicious voice.
“Nothing you can do, Doc,” Feilding said. “He's already dead. His arteries imploded. Terrible, eh, boy?”
“Why?” Cox whispered.
The door to office opened and the Chinese man entered. His upper lip curled up, his eyes were cold. Just like Feilding's. It was obvious to Cox that in the office next door the Chinese man's Doctor and commanding officer lay dead.
“Revolution,” Feilding said.
Dr. Cox eyes darted back and forth between the Chinese man and Feilding before rolling in the back of his head and convulsions overtook his body. He fell to the floor.
“Revolution,” Feilding and the Chinese man spoke simultaneously.
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