Page 56 of Garbage

“Go get your man.”

Evan squealed out of the parking lot. The car had never driven itself like this, taking the corners at a perilous angle. Evan clicked on his seatbelt, which also should have been required before the car left the lot.

What the fuck was Ben doing?

Evan was never going to complain or chastise Ben again, though. The little red dot was inching ahead, and his own green dot was flying.

The first fifteen minutes of the ride, his fear for Quincy’s life was almost eclipsed by fear for his own, as they swerved around double-parked cars and ran every yellow light and sometimes into the reds. He swore they were going to crash more than once.

Then the map started popping up with spontaneous “alternative routes” for construction. Two minutes later, the streets ahead of him were clear. And he hit every green light.

Shit. Either Ben or Maxamillion was learning fast.

The red lines of a traffic jam surrounded the other car.

Ben’s voice came in over the car speakers. “They’re turning into a lot. I can’t stop them because it’s not an Orbit lock.”

“That’s alright, Ben. I’m twelve minutes away.”

It was redundant information, since he was sure Ben knew. Already, the traffic jam was melting away, route information changing for the hundreds of cars around him before his very eyes. Six minutes, the map told him. Then four.

He slammed into a junky, cheap-looking car repair lot and jerked to a chest-crunching stop. At least the gate hadn’t been in his way.

But he wasn’t exactly making a subtle entrance. And it wasn’t like he had a weapon, or would know how to use one if he did. His best hope was stalling the attackers until the police arrived. If they were even coming.

Did no one give a shit about sparks? He knew the police tended to collect hatemongers, no matter what their regulations and trainings dictated. But he hadn’t expected to see it so visibly.

Evan stepped out of the car, knees trembling. Last time this had been easier, because he didn’t really know what was going on until he was in the midst of it.

Now he was starting from a place of dread. There were a lot of scraps and tools around that could be used as weapons against him or Quincy. And he was on the attacker’s home turf.

He heard a low, mean voice, and followed it, sneaking around the cars and he flicked on his recording and called the police again.

“You like that, Sparky?” The man chuckled. Evan couldn’t see what he was doing, but it made his blood run cold. “You see, guys? It’s coded to my voice. Don’t even need to tie him up. He’s just gonna stand there and let us beat him.” The man made his voice teasing and high, like he was cooing at a baby. “But he’s still in there, aren’t you? You can hear everything I say.”

What a sick fuck.

“His pain circuits still work just fine, right, Sparky?” There was a horrible thump. Oh, god. “And look, all I have to say is open your dirty little mouth, and see? You’re all ready for me. But that’s only fair, isn’t it? You got my buddy thrown in jail. Says he’s got a trial on Tuesday. But you can’t have a trial if there isn’t a victim, now can you?”

“No!” Evan didn’t even realize the scream had come from his chest. But now the adrenaline was pumping in his veins. Making him think that he could do something stupid, like take on three bulky attackers in black ski masks. “Get away from him.”

“Ahhh… it’s the robot lover. Come to get your boyfriend?” It was said with a sneer, like this was supposed to be an insult, instead of the highest honor Evan could receive.

“Step away from him,” Evan repeated. “If you kill him, you’ll be facing jail time, too.”

“Oh, yeah? I checked the records. He’s not a registered spark. Just a weird little toy who got too smart for his own good.” The man dragged the bent end of a tire iron across Quincy’s chest. There was already an indentation across his belly where it had struck, a fat line where his shirt pressed into his deformed flesh.

One of his beautiful eyes had been crushed, his cheekbone bashed in. There was a tear down one arm, exposing delicate wires, gears, and pistons that gleamed in the light, dark oil dripping out of the ruptures.

God, this guy wasn’t just out to destroy Quincy. He was torturing him first.

That wasn’t the scariest thing, though. Quincy was, indeed, standing completely motionless. Taking whatever was dealt out. Locked in place as thoroughly as if he’d been chained to the wall.

“He’s alive and aware,” Evan argued. He knew he wasn’t going to make a compelling argument. He just couldn’t stand the deadness in Quincy’s remaining eye, like he was already gone, when inside he had to be screaming.

The only thing Evan could do was distract the man for as long as possible.

He wasn’t prepared for the next swing or the sickening crunch that followed it. He could hear metal twisting inside. The hiss of compressed air and liquids draining where they should never be. “Good,” the man grunted. Then he turned to the two men watching. “Take care of him.”