Page 14 of Anarchy Missing

But I just tuck my coat collar up around my neck and head to the door. It opens before I even get there, holographic Sheila ready to greet me.

“Case,” she says, waving me in and ordering the door to close behind via some unseen mechanism. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I say, slipping my winter coat off and stomping my shoes on the mat before I enter the massive great room. “Where’s Linc?”

“Waiting for you downstairs.”

“Molly?” I ask.

“Still at work. I told her to take it easy. She shouldn’t be overdoing things in her condition.”

“She’s—”

“Not yet.” Sheila smirks as we walk towards the hidden panel built into the wall on the north side of the main living area fireplace. “But she will be shortly. Mark my words.”

I drop the subject of Molly’s nonexistent pregnancy and just walk down the spiral stone steps that lead to the lab.

The wave pattern of the huge jellyfish tanks reflects along the walls, getting brighter and brighter until the steps sweep around one final corner and it all comes into view.

This is the new entrance. Linc has been super-paranoid about anyone using the tunnel to access the cave since we took down Blue Corp. We can’t risk anyone following one of us and compromising it. In fact, the tunnel got a new foot-thick steel door to replace that broken-down old grate that used to prevent access.

“Hey,” Lincoln says, lying down on a rolling creeper, his feet pushing off on a giant red tool box and sliding across the floor. He slips smoothly underneath one of his muscle cars, wrench in hand, and resumes whatever he’s been doing down here all day.

Sometimes I envy Lincoln. No job, no responsibilities. Doesn’t even have to leave his damn house if he doesn’t want to. Just walks down to his dungeon and gets right to work doing… well, whatever the fuck it is he does down here. Lab shit. Computer shit. Who knows? Maybe mad scientist shit.

“Sheila says you’re gonna get another workup,” Linc says, still tinkering.

“Yup,” I say, sighing.

“You got problems I should know about?” This time he slides out from under the car just enough to make eye contact.

“Nope,” I say. “Where’s Thomas? He said he was coming for dinner.”

Lincoln eyes me for a few seconds before scooting back under the car to continue working. “He’ll be here soon, I think. He’s picking Molly up so she doesn’t have to drive in the snow.”

“Well, I could’ve done that. You should’ve told me.”

“No big deal,” Lincoln says. “Besides, Sheila wanted you here early so she could get started.”

“I have the room all ready for you,” Sheila says. “It’s all comfy and clean.” Big smile on her face like I’m some child she needs to convince to be good for a shot.

I roll my eyes and walk away from Linc, down the hallway to the operating room. “What’s the plan then?” I ask. “Nothing’s wrong as far as I can tell.”

“Well, Case,” Sheila says, appearing in the room before I even get there, “I’m not sure you’d even know what to look for. Which is why you’re lucky to have me as your doctor.”

The machines and computers all flick on and I let my eyes linger on the computer screen for a moment, just to check if they’ve got it locked down. They do, but Sheila opens it up and data starts scrolling from her internal commands.

I’m sure there’s a screen lock, but I’m also pretty sure that it’s on a timer that lasts at least fifteen minutes. Sheila and Lincoln used to work in here alone before she took over the bots and he was changed. When you have no extra hands, you can’t be stopping to unlock your computer every few minutes.

I watch it as robot minions start crawling up my legs with monitoring wires.

“Take off your shirt, Case. They need skin.”

I nod to Sheila, but keep track of the screen out of the corner of my eye as I take off my suit coat and tie, then pull my shirt out of my pants and start unbuttoning it. The minion bots wait patiently on the operating table until I’m done, and then get to work hooking me up to… well, whatever it is Sheila hooks me up to when we do this shit.

I’m used to the minions by now. At first it was creepy as fuck to have those spider-bots crawling all over my body, but really, they are just Sheila using another body. Not semi-intelligent autonomous machines.

One of them crawls onto my hand and pricks my finger, then holds a small glass tube against the flow of blood. Before I can even complain about the lack of warning, it scurries down my pant leg, drops to the floor and climbs up the lab bench where the biggest piece of equipment in here—Hammer, Linc’s robotic arm—takes it and proceeds to smear it on a slide and place it under a microscope.