The other men started shooting at him. Ivan ignored the hot metal ripping into his back and drove his right fist into Andre’s face. It caved in, a piñata smashed by a brutal child.
There was a bang and a gurgling scream behind him as he dropped the body. Inga had disarmed a man and used his own weapon to shoot him in the throat.
She immediately shot the other man between the eyes as Ivan rushed at the last gunman.
The condemned man put three bullets into Ivan’s already bloody chest before Ivan grabbed his head and twisted it violently.
Molenski had retreated into the living room and stood behind the Genitix man as Ivan let the body of the last gunman drop to the floor. Babic was further back, his face horrified. The Genitix man raised a small black device.
Too late, Inga raised her gun. The man’s thumb pressed the device and suddenly Ivan found he couldn’t move. If he had been asked later to describe how he felt at that moment, he would have described it as being totally paralyzed. He was aware of what was happening, but unable to move.
Inga seemed to have suffered the same fate. In his peripheral vision, he could see her frozen, weapon still aimed at the spot that the technician had now sensibly vacated.
He watched helplessly as Molenski, chuckling, stepped past the technician and headed towards Inga. Looking at Ivan and smiling, he traced the muzzle of his Ruger along her jawline before placing it between her eyes.
Noooo! Screamed Ivan silently
The loud bang behind him surprised all of them.
Perhaps even Mateo Babic, who held the smoking Colt .45. The technician fell to his knees and then toppled face first into the wooden floorboards. The controller he had used to disable the robots fell from his lifeless fingers.
Babic immediately turned his gun on Molenski, his eyes filling with tears.
“I’m so sorry, Ivan. I didn’t know what the bastard put you through until just now,” he said, his voice cracking. “He didn’t tell me they put you in there. He just told me you were a robot, like her. Oh God, what have they done to you… to your soul?”
Shoot the bastard; Ivan willed the Croatian. Shoot him!
With his gun trained on Molenski, the emotional man walked over to the control device.
“I will make this right.”
Babic only took his eyes off Molenski for a moment, but it was enough. The Russian’s hand snaked out. Babic was bending for the remote when the knife struck him in the side of the neck. He fell to his knees and struggled to keep his weapon trained on the Russian.
It was too heavy. His arm wavered and slowly drooped, before the weapon finally slipped from his numb fingers and he toppled onto the man he had just killed.
“Oh, good,” said Molenski, with feigned relief. “Now, where were we…? Oh yes, alone at last.”
He pocketed his gun and reached out to Inga. Gripping the top of her dress he ripped it down the middle, exposing her underwear.
“Oh, yes. So perfect… Ivan, I can see why you fell for her.”
He pulled her bra down, freeing her breasts, and then slid his hands down her belly to the top of her panties. His fingers were just slipping under the soft material when Babic, with one last effort, reached out and touched the green icon on the controller.
Molenski wasn’t aware he was in danger until Inga smiled.
He immediately reached for his Ruger. He was quick. She was quicker.
Her hand, claw-like, slashed his right cheek. Her nails rent his skin like tissue paper, and he backpedaled, the wet flap of skin hanging from his cheek, waving like a flag of surrender.
He managed to pull his Ruger out of his pants, but she disarmed him as easily as a parent taking a lollipop from a child, then threw it across the room. He put up his hands and she punched him in the forehead. Molenski reeled and took another two steps backward.
Ivan could now move as well, but he didn’t.
He simply watched.
“Please, it was all a misunderstanding…”
A heavy punch to his stomach bent him over double. She watched him struggle for breath, her pleasant smile never wavering as she allowed him to recover and begin to straighten.
A vicious chop to the throat with the heel of her hand put him on his ass.
The cruel Russian began to cry.
Her kick to the jaw put him on his back.
Molenski, crying and choking on his own blood, saw her raise her leg. He turned his head, waiting for another kick, only to feel the sole of her shoe placed gently on the side of his head. It began to press down. The Russian reached up, grasping her ankle to try and dislodge her.
“Dimi, I know all about Inga Svenson,” she said in Russian.
Molenski froze, his eyes widening in terror.
“‘Inga Svenson, the daughter of the Swedish ambassador, was today tragically struck and killed by a truck. After returning a blood alcohol reading of 0.97, the driver of the vehicle has been charged with driving under the influence of alcohol. He claims the woman was chased onto the road. The deceased woman’s boyfriend was questioned by Moscow police, however no other witnesses have come forward. The boyfriend told Moscow News Today they were simply playing a game and that he is devastated that his beloved Inga, the woman he was destined to marry, was killed by a drunk driver. He urges people not to drink and drive.’”
“Please. Let me up; I’ll explain everything,” said Molenski weakly.
“There is nothing to explain,” said Inga.
Molenski screamed at the buildup of pressure in his head and began to struggle violently.
“Fuck you bitch; you’re just like that little whore… I’ll fuck you up; you hear me! I’ll…”
His skull collapsed with a muffled crack.
Inga looked down at the now silent Russian.
“No, I just fucked you up, Dimitri Molenski,” she said quietly.
Inga went to Ivan and kissed him on the lips.
“Come Myfriend, let us go and see your doctor. You’re a bloody mess.”
She pulled his hand, but he stayed where he was, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Did you know?” he asked.
“Did I know what, Myfriend?”
“Did you know… about me? That I’m like you…?”
“Would it change anything?”
He thought for a moment.
“No… I guess not.”
This time, when she pulled his hand, he followed. They walked past the bodies and through the door into the early morning darkness.
Epilogue
“Jesus, what a mess,” said the figure in the hazmat suit as she stood over the body of Molenski. She looked around at the carnage in the small apartment. “We have to get this cleaned up before the PD get wind.”
“Yes. Ma’am. A deluxe clean?”
“No, standard. Remove Molenski and our tech guy. Leave the rest, it’ll look like a mob hit gone wrong. With Babic’s history it won’t be much of a stretch.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“No one is to touch Molenski, he had a recording implant, if its undamaged I want to be the first to see what happened here.”
“Yes Ms. Dryden.”
Joanne Dryden, COO of Genitix Experimental Robotics and Enhancements division walked out of the apartment and pulled off her helmet as she descended the exterior staircase. The morning air cooled the perspiration on her forehead as she began to mentally list her most pressing problems so she could formulate a damage control plan.
Dead majority shareholder, check. Missing experimental ‘ghost’, check. Missing, apparently rogue, Sinthetica model, check.
What a clusterfuck of the highest order…