#117

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

#117

 

 

 

 

“Wake up #117.”

 

A pair of colorless eyes opened and stared dully out of a bland, forgettable face.

 

“Your time has come. Report to debriefing room 11-A immediately. Code 13-BCX has been enacted.”

 

The eyes blinked lazily and #117 unfolded herself to stand uneasily on cybertronic legs. The bottom part and left side of her torso were also a silver mass of wires, tubes, and metal plating. Her left forearm and hand glimmered, sleek and smooth as the most expensive of alloys. Her head was shaved, her identification number tattooed under her left ear. She was just like the other, forgettable and insignificant.

 

Slowly at first, then picking up speed, #117 walked out of the room and to the hall outside. Methodically she made her way through the lifts, halls, escalators, and coded doors to debriefing room 11-A. Inside were three others, staring dispassionately at a wall. Two guards glanced at her uneasily as a man in a white coat approached. He seized her head in his hands and twisted, reading the identification number imprinted into flesh. “#117, arrived. That’s all of them.”

 

He released her and #117 stood in line next to the three like her. Two were males, one other was female. They did not speak or look at each other.

 

Another man in a white coat stepped in front of them. A blue badge at his chest labeled name, number, and rank—he was the head scientist. “#’s 318, 211, 423, and 117: you have been specially selected for Code 13-BCX. You will live among a certain group of humans and analyze their actions. Become like them. After a period of two weeks we will collect them for processing. Your service will greatly benefit the Company. Step through the door and receive your temporary identities.”

 

318, 211, 423, and 117 turned in formation and plodded through the door indicated. Four men in white coats stood ready. They grabbed the arms of their assigned numbers and drew them to their stations.

 

#117 stood quietly as she was washed, dressed, and dabbed with makeup to complete her pseudo-appearance of a normal female human. A black wig was placed over her baldness, violet contacts covered her dead stare, and long eyelashes were deftly sewn to eyelids. Skin colored makeup hid identification number and pale skin pallor. Roses were added to her cheeks, color to her lips.

 

“#117, you are now Viola Smith. Confirm.”

 

#117 blinked and opened her mouth. “Confirmed.”

 

“Installing voice box and microchip. Commenced.”

 

The man in the white coat pushed a spherical metal chip into a slot under 117’s arm. He quickly covered the area with fake skin and makeup. 117 gave a slight tremor as if waking up as the chip installed temporary memories, emotions, and other things necessary to imitate human actions into her complex brain. Behind it all were the particulars of her assignment.

 

The man pressed his fingers on either side of 117’s jaw and slid the whole compartment forward. Removing the standard Company voice box, he deftly installed the voice box of Viola Smith. Upon the completion of the assignment, the identity would be erased completely as if there had never been a pretend Viola Smith.

 

“Testing voice box. Say hello, Viola.”

 

Viola Smith— #117—blinked and turned a charming smile on the man in the white coat. “Hello,” she said in a light, musical voice.

 

The man felt chills run up his spine. The disguise was perfect but beneath he knew lay the colorless, dispassionate gaze and voice of #117, the Company’s most efficient Eradicator. Called ‘Eras’ for short, the numbers could don any identity created by the designated computers and encoded into a micro chip. They were masters of disguise and deception.

 

“Eras, exit dressing room and take tunnel B to transport unit.”

 

The Eras turned, this time testing their new personalities. Viola Smith was now the girlfriend of Gabriel Brown, former #318. He wore a layered brown wig, bright green contacts, and an easy smile. He was dressed in the style of the season for men—darkly colored body suit with accenting highlights, in Gabriel’s case dark green, layered leather gauntlets, Aero-boots, and a brass metal ring about the neck. He drew Viola close as they walked out of the room, wordlessly running a hand through her long hair. As they passed one of the mirrors in the hall, #117 caught a glimpse of herself. Her long black wig traveled smoothly over her shoulders to end in layers at her lower back. She was dressed in the newest fashions herself—a long sleeved, long waist plasto-shirt of black with violet triangles slashing along her slender waist, a short dark purple skirt with cylinder bells as a musical belt, black leg warmers with ribbons of varying shades of purple, and slender Aero-boots for females. There was no sign of the metal that made up her legs, hand, and arm. Her eyes were accented by a clever application of makeup that was sure to turn heads, and a looping necklace of amethyst and elements from the purple planet AAA framed her long throat attractively.

 

Viola Smith turned away from her reflection and surveyed the other two behind her. They were similarly dressed—the girl, now Deidre Williams, was made out to accent her red hair and her ‘brother’, Tuan Williams, in shades to match his red-brown hair. Both had eyes the color of sapphires.

 

Viola turned her face up to Gabriel for a kiss and received one. They were just entering the transportation unit and she relished in the unnerved stares of the scientists there. They were always nervous when they gave the Eras personalities—it made them more dangerous than the others.

 

The four Eras slid easily into the sleek new model of hover car. The scientist disguised as their driver settled into his seat less easily. He turned white as Viola placed her hands on either side of his face from behind, her eyes bright in one of his mirrors. “Hurry now,” she said coyly. “We don’t want to be late.”

 

“Viola, don’t tease,” Gabriel said with a smile. He drew her back to lean against him, putting his nose in her hair and sighing. The car pulled away with a low thrum, leaving the transportation unit. A peal of laughter from one of the girls made all of the scientist cringe as the car shot away in a flash of light.

 

 

 

The scientist dropped the four Eras off at a popular club called the Zone. Their ID’s and pass cards were handed out, and the man gave Viola the photo of the three ringleaders of the group they were looking for. “They’re known to stay in the farthest corner away from the bar and dance floor. We’ll come in 14 days.”

 

The four entered the smoky, loud, thrumming club. It wasn’t hard to locate the group they were looking for. They were a group of college students, muses, punks.

 

“You three stay on the dance floor and trickle in slowly,” Viola said emotionlessly. “We don’t want to spook them. Gabriel, you come first.”

 

Viola sauntered up to the group and took an eye to the empty table next to them. “Anyone sitting here?” she asked sweetly, looking at the oldest male under her lashes. He was one of the men in her photos. He was crucial at this moment.

 

The young man, stunned, nodded at her dumbly. Viola sat gracefully, making sure part of her bared leg showed as she crossed her ankles. “My name’s Viola. I’m new here—parents just moved.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So had to change universities all of a sudden. They are so clipped.”

 

“I know how you mean,” one of the girls said, grinning. “I’m new two months ago. Which university?”

 

“I’m at Weston & Larth.”

 

“Hey!” one of the lads cried. Viola stiffened. “That’s where we all go. How about you join up? You seem like a cool chick.”

 

Viola relaxed and flashed a smile. “That’d be great! I don’t have any mates yet.”

 

It was at that moment that Gabriel appeared. Viola’s eyes widened. “Oh, well, I’m sorry, that was a lie. I do have Gabe here. He’s my escort.”

 

The girls eyed the young man approvingly and the young men inwardly sighed. Those still single had been hoping to snag Viola for themselves.

 

Gabriel flicked his hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Nice to see you all.”

 

“Oy!”

 

The group looked up as Deidre and Tuan appeared with a waiter on their tails carrying a tray with a round of drinks. “Good, you saved us a table, Viola. This place is packed!” Deidre looked up at the group next to Viola and Gabriel and grinned. “You lot want some fire?”

 

The free drinks sealed the new friendship and soon the four were talking and drinking avidly with their targets. Deidre pulled one of the young men to his feet and drew him to the dance floor, a secret in her eyes and a coy smile on her lips. Some of the boys whistled and yelled approval.

 

Viola ran a finger through Gabe’s hair as she listened to the conversation around her. At the back of her mind she catalogued tone, slang, behavior, gestures. Her gaze zoomed in on a girl sitting on a lad’s lap, kissing him.

 

Viola inwardly shattered the image with a silent glare. Humans were disgusting creatures she had no love for. It was one of the reasons she was so good for her purpose—when she had emotions she hated her targets. Viola smiled at the thought that in 13 days and 22 hours they would be joining their ranks. Soon they would answer to the same call that commanded Viola and Gabriel, Deidre and Tuan.

 

Around 2 am Viola sent out a mental call. It was time to call it a day.

 

Deidre pulled herself away from her new toy. He looked after her with adoring eyes and sighed. Tuan lay off talking with one of the girls, and Viola and Gabriel stood, smiling at the crew. “I guess we’ll see you at the university,” Viola said, spreading her lips in a smile.

 

“Sure thing,” they shouted. “See you there!”

 

As the four walked out, Viola shook her head softly and pressed her lips to Gabriel’s ear. “Humans are so trusting,” she sighed.

 

Gabriel’s eyes glinted and he put an arm around Viola’s waist, an action he copied from one of the couples at the club. “They will soon become useful.” They walked the rest of the way to their hideout.

 

 

 

 

Viola blinked and looked down. A child was standing next to her, eating ice cream. She turned her sticky face up to the Era and grinned.

 

Across the street a large man tussled in the grass with his dog. His laughter carried to Viola’s hyper-sensitive ears and echoed there.

 

A mother and father came walking down the path, a child squealing with delight as he swung between them. The looks on the couple’s faces were of pure joy.

 

 

 

 

Viola came out of her ‘sleep’ mode with a jolt. Gabriel stayed silent and droning at her side, still in the hibernation that their creators called sleep.

 

Viola stood and moved cat-like to the bathroom of the hideout and stared into the mirror, rubbing her forehead. Was it possible for a positronic brain to have headaches?

 

Another image flashed before her eyes. A little girl, playing in a yard. Making a sand castle.

 

Viola shuddered, felt a circuit in her brain pull too tight, and groaned. What was happening?

 

 

 

 

“Hey, sir, look at this.”

 

The head scientist of the Company peered over the technician’s shoulder. “What is this?”

 

“An anomaly, sir.” The technician peered at the data he had paused. “There’s a gap. One of the Eras doesn’t have a complete firewall for their memories.”

 

“Which one?”

 

The technician clicked, searching. His face went white as a picture and ID came up. “#117,” he whispered.

 

The head scientist swore under his breath. “She’s our most thorough Era. Will this anomaly affect her?”

 

“It’s unstable. Anything could trigger it.”

 

“But it hasn’t up till now,” the scientist mused. “Check current status.”

 

The technician scrolled down. “Recon. She’s out of bounds.”

 

“Well if she hasn’t had any problems so far I highly doubt we need to worry about it. But just as a precaution, when she gets back call her in. We’ll reboot and reprogram her. That should keep things quiet.”

 

“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it myself.”

 

 

 

 

Viola and the others met up with the gang a day later. Viola’s strange headache had passed, leaving no trace of the little girl and the sand castle.

 

“Hey, there they are!” one of the ringleaders, a man called Clint, yelled, a large smile spreading on his face.

 

Deidre immediately sidled up to the young man she had been with before, putting her hands on his chest.

 

“Who’s up for coffee?” a girl said, running her fingers through her hair and smiling at Tuan. “I know this great old-fashioned placed down the runway. They even have breakfast pills now. It might just fit us all.”

 

The gang laughed and began to walk down the pathway in twos and threes. Viola took Gabriel’s arm and started to smile.

 

She was walking down a similar path, holding the hand of a boy her age. He had silvery blond hair and grinned at her. Viola’s heart swelled and she swung their clasped hands a little. But, no, she was not Viola, she was...

 

Viola bent over, clutching her skull. She clamped her teeth together so tightly she heard them creak. The circuit that had strained so tightly before snapped and fizzled out.

 

“Hey man, what’s the matter with her?”

 

“Yo, is she alright?”

 

“Somebody find some water!”

 

Viola felt herself lowered to the ground. Gabriel put his hand at the back of her head, pretending to make his hand a cushion against the ground. Unseen by the others he slipped his thumb under Viola’s wig and pushed a metal sensor into a slot on her scalp. He waited a moment, reading the data he received.

 

Viola watched him through slit eyes, her vision a red haze that grew static and shifted when she tried to move. “3...1...8...” she croaked, forgetting their aliases.

 

“What’s she talking about?” one of the boys asked.

 

The three Eras formed a protective barrier around Viola. “We need to go home,” Gabriel said dully, dropping the warmth in his voice.

 

“Hey, man, what’s your problem? Your girl’s hurt and you don’t even look like you care!”

 

Gabriel picked Viola up. “We’re going.” He tried to exit the ring.

 

Clint put a hand to Viola’s forehead. “She’s cold!” he exclaimed. “Like ice! You need to get her to a hospital, man!” His brow furrowed as his fingers brushed under Viola’s ear, scraping away skin colored makeup. “What’s this?”

 

Tuan pushed the young man away. “Give her some air!” he snapped. “We’re going to get her some help. We’ll meet up later.”

 

As they moved away, the four heard the muttering of the gang.

 

“Maybe she’s hung over, man.”

 

“Did you see that though?”

 

“What?”

 

“I swear she had a tat covered up by makeup. I couldn’t tell what it was thought—some number I think...”

 

Tuan’s eyes turned steely. He looked inward, as if focusing on another place entirely. “Experiment cut short,” he intoned. “Extraction for processing must be commenced early. Help for Viola #117 needed immediately.”

 

 

 

 

“Sir, it happened.”

 

“What happened?”

 

The technician held up a chart. On it were neat lines that indicated normal Era thought patterns. Farther along the sheet the lines darkened and spiked erratically.

 

The scientist swore. “What will happen?”

 

“She’s already started remembering her childhood in bits and pieces. We’ll have to totally reprogram her...maybe even destroy her.”

 

The scientist swore again. “She’s our best. Have they called in yet?”

 

“#211, alias Tuan Williams, called in around 13:00 hours. We haven’t heard since.”

 

“And what has been done?”

 

“The Eras have been told to meet again with the target to aid with extraction. We’ll have to continue the study here or go ahead with the processing procedure.”

 

The scientist rubbed his chin. “They might not all be suitable. Some of them could reject the procedure quite violently.”

 

“We’ll just have to take that chance,” the technician said.

 

“Fine then. Send in a squad. I want them out and back here in less than 24 hours.”

 

“Right, sir.”

 

 

 

 

“Is she gonna be ok?”

 

Gabriel looked up. He had feigned the look and attitude of distressed lover very well: his eyes were reddened, his hair mussed—his skin was paler than normal. That hadn’t been hard, of itself. The Era had simply washed the makeup from his skin, returning him to his normal deathly pallor.

 

“She’s resting,” he replied. “The doctors said it was exhaustion and stress. They gave her some sleeping pills.”

 

Tuan glanced at his watch, inwardly checking his mental clock. 5 minutes...

 

“I’m glad she’ll be ok,” one of the girls said. “She really had us scared.”

 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “She looked real sick. By the way,” he turned to the three Eras. “What was that under her ear? It looked like a tattoo, or maybe a birthmark. I thought it was a number at first...”

 

“A birthmark,” Deidre said quickly. “It was just a birthmark.”

 

“Oh,” Clint said, but his eyes showed that he didn’t believe them. “I see.”

 

Tuan shifted again. 2 minutes...

 

 

 

 

Viola writhed where she lay on the ground in the hideout, clutching her head. Images streamed across her gaze. You were human once! a voice screamed at her. You had a name, a family. More images slammed against her eyes—a summer camp with her boyfriend at a lab...Josh was his name. They had been taken ‘behind the scenes’ with the other students. She had seen horrible things, had horrible things done to her. They had shaved her head and tattooed a number under her ear. Then they had turned her into a monster, turned her into a thing instead of a person. They had shoved her, naked and only half human, into a closed chamber with the others. Many of them died within hours, some quietly, some violently. Her boyfriend, Josh, had died in her arms, frothing and thrashing, bleeding. She and ten others had been the only ones to survive the night out of 67 students.

 

Viola screamed, her mind breaking away from the patterns and rules they had drilled, inscribed upon the bit of human brain she had left. She remembered her mother and father, her twin sister and little brother—they would have been heart broken, destroyed by her disappearance.

 

Footsteps around her broke through the flood of data, images, sounds. “Easy there girl,” a familiar voice said. “It’s alright now.”

 

Viola looked up at the man through tearing eyes. “You,” she groaned. It was the man—the man who had been so unfamiliar before, as incognito as the rest of them. Now his face shot through her brain like lightning; his face had been the one behind the mask as they had turned her into a monster. His had been the blood soaked hands that had taken her life and reconfigured it to his will.

 

Viola didn’t think. She acted. A hand shot up to grip his throat, squeezing with titanium force. The scientist choked, his eyes bulging.

 

Men in white lab coats grabbed Viola, yanking her off of the scientist. “#117, you are experiencing an anomaly,” a voice said behind her. The men yanked her wig and clothing off, stripping her bare. Viola looked down at her metal legs and torso and shrieked. She tried to kick away, but they had her strapped to a stretcher now, one made for the brutal strength of an Era gone wrong. Hands grabbed her face and peeled her eyelids back, removing the contacts. Liquid drops were squeezed into her eyes as more hands examined her half-human, half-metal body. She felt sick, writhed in her bonds.

 

“Easy now, 117,” the voice said again. “In a few hours you’ll be back at the Company. We’ll find out what’s wrong there and set about turning you normal again.”

 

“NO!” she screamed. “What did you do to me? What did you do to me?!"

 

“Remove the emotion chip!” one of the scientists exclaimed.

 

“We can’t! We’d have to un-strap her and she’d kill us all. We’ll do that back at the Company where we can restrain her properly.

 

Hands picked her head up, pushing her chin forward. Viola kept screaming, felt a needle pierce the back of her neck and felt her muscles go slack. Her body was out of synch with her brain, but she kept screaming, kept cursing and shrieking as the scientists picked her up and carried her out of the building. They loaded her into a truck and drove away. From the back of the truck, Viola was still screaming.

 

 

 

 

She blinked. She was in a completely white room, her arms and legs chained to floor and ceiling. She couldn’t move and inch.

 

She also couldn’t feel the horror and rage that had consumed her...how long ago? She didn’t know. She tried to peer down at her side.

 

“Looking for this?”

 

Viola looked up to see the scientist she had nearly strangled. She remembered why, but she was finding it difficult to care.

 

He was holding the emotion identity sphere in his hand, smiling. “Nasty, complicated things, emotions. You see what they can do. A single anomaly in your brain and your emotions led to a whole fabricated dream.”

 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Viola, no, 117, said. “It was real. What did you do to me?”

 

The scientist shrugged. “Believe what you like. We’ll soon reprogram you and get rid of that anomaly. But right now I have a new shipment in that need processing. That’ll take several hours at least. Until then, you have to wait here.”

 

117 watched him walk away, knowing that the ‘new shipment’ he was referring to was the group she and the other Eras had been targeting. More innocents to be tortured and surgically altered into cyborgs. Despite knowing that, she couldn’t find the emotions to cry.

 

She waited what seemed like hours, but when she checked her mental clock it had only been about half an hour.

 

The door hissed open and loud slapping footsteps brought 117’s head up. She would have gaped in shock if she had had the emotions to do so.

 

It was Clint, pale, horrified, and looking as if he were about to lose his mind. His head was shaved, and his skin pink under his left ear where a black number had been freshly tattooed.

 

“Oh no,” he breathed. “Not you too, Viola!”

 

117 bowed her head. “My name here is #117,” she whispered. “I was like this before you knew me.”

 

“What...?”

 

“My job,” she said emotionlessly, “was to study you and your gang for a period of 14 days before you were to be extracted for processing. Due to my condition we had to act early.”

 

“I don’t...what...what do you mean?”

 

117 looked up at Clint, unable to cry, unable to scream in anguish. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s my fault you’re here.”

 

Clint paused, looking like he was torn between hate and confusion. Then he shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “It’s these sicko’s faults. You weren’t born like that, I’ll guarantee, and I’ll be you didn’t sign up.”

 

117 blinked. “Let me down and I’ll help you get out.”

 

The doors hissed open again. The scientist was standing there, his gloved hands, coat, and face mask covered in blood. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “You’ve put us severely behind. I was supposed to be working on #117 by now!” He shook his head. “We’ll just have to multi task. Take them both!”

 

Clint screamed and threw himself forward, trying to tear his way through the bodies of the Eras who had come with the head scientist. They grabbed him roughly, staring at him with cold, uncaring eyes. Two more Eras unchained 117 and gripped her elbows, pushing her forward.

 

Clint strained, punching the head scientist as hard as he could from his position stretched between the cyborgs. The man stumbled back, a spherical disk falling from his pocket...

 

117 was upon it in a moment, staring at it avidly.

 

“#117, give that to me!” the scientist screamed. Clint was subdued, the Eras watching calmly.

 

117 shoved the disk into her side. Immediately emotions needed for action pumped into her veins: anger, fear, vengeance.

 

With a shrill roar 117 bashed the Eras nearest her into the wall, splintering alloys and delicate machinery. The scientist screamed as she lunged for him, but six Eras rose up before her and grabbed her, pulling her in six directions. She was caught.

 

 

 

 

The Eras strapped Viola and Clint to operating tables and wheeled them into the sterilized room. Several scientist, armed with saws, scalpels, blow torches, and mechanical parts waited for Clint. The head scientist, still panting from his fright in the containment room, bent over 117. “You can keep your emotions for the time being,” he snarled, ignoring Clint’s screams of horror and rage, still trying to escape his bonds. “They may help me locate the anomaly swifter.” The scientist turned to the other men waiting to begin on Clint. “I’ll deal with #117 first. It shouldn’t take long.”

 

The scientist placed what appeared to be two sharp needles on either side of 117’s head, directed at each temple. He switched on several computers and watched as their screens loaded up. He pressed a green button and the needles jammed into Viola’s head.

 

 

 

 

 

“Wake up #117.”

 

A pair of colorless eyes opened and stared dully out of a bland, forgettable face.

 

“What is your name?”

 

The eyes blinked. “I have no name. I am #117.”

 

“Very good. You are to guide #836 through the Company so that he may learn the paths. Commence.”

 

The eyes blinked lazily and #117 unfolded herself to stand uneasily on cybertronic legs. Before her was a shiny new Era. He wore a face...a face that was familiar...

 

...Clint...

 

Immediately her firewall jumped up and cut off that train of though. #’s 117 and 836 left the room without a word.

[Tralla]

I liked this, overall. Although it's a concept that's been tackled by many people, there's something a little horrifying about it, so they can be quite powerful stories.

 

Okee, here's for the more picky critique. Feel free to disregard, just giving my impressions.

 

“Your time has come. Report to debriefing room ...

 

A little melodramatic. If they're addressing machines, what about something like, "You have an assignment." Your later conversations suggest she's an experienced agent. A routine mission shouldn't be a momentous event.

 

The eyes blinked lazily and #117 unfolded herself to stand uneasily on cybertronic legs.

 

I'd replace 'lazily' and 'uneasily' with, say, 'slowly' and 'unsteadily'. To me, the first words have too many emotional undertones for a creature with no emotions.

 

The bottom part and left side of her torso were also a silver mass of wires, tubes, and metal plating. Her left forearm and hand glimmered, sleek and smooth as the most expensive of alloys. ... She was just like the other, forgettable and insignificant.

 

The first half of the first sentence is awkward. Try describing the body area differently, ie 'left and lower torso'. For the second sentence, IS it an expensive alloy? If you're going to use simile, it should probably read 'AS sleek and blah blah blah'. And for the last sentense... otherS. You drop a lot of 's's throughout the story. I do the same thing all the time with 'ed'. Proofreading should fix this.

 

Slowly at first, then picking up speed, #117 walked out of the room

 

Walked is a little... blah. Perhaps a more descriptive verb? Did she stride? March? Stagger?

 

“#’s 318, 211, 423, and 117: you have been specially selected for Code 13-BCX. You will live among a certain group of humans and analyze their actions. Become like them. After a period of two weeks we will collect them for processing. Your service will greatly benefit the Company. Step through the door and receive your temporary identities.”

 

'Numbers' instead of '#'s' might make that statement a little easier to read. Another thought: if they're essentially robots, why bother telling them what's going to happen in two weeks? It's none of their business. Their job is the recon. Or, if they're experienced operators, they already know the recon is for extraction. And why bother telling them their service will benefit the Company? It's wasted breath. Just order them around. They're flat machines.

 

The man felt chills run up his spine.

 

Cliche. Is there another way you could describe his unease?

 

The four entered the smoky, loud, thrumming club. It wasn’t hard to locate the group they were looking for. They were a group of college students, muses, punks.

 

Set the scene. Is it humid? Do they work their way through a press of talking, laughing bodies? Does the music grate on cyber nerves? This is an important scene for the story, a little more depth might pull your readers in better.

 

The young man, stunned, nodded at her dumbly.

 

Shook his head? Nodding would suggest someone WAS siting there.

 

"...They are so clipped.”

 

Loved this. Slang made it instantly feel like a more realistic culture.

 

"I don’t have any mates yet.”

 

She corrects this statement for Gabe, but then two more friends saunter right on up! I'd have a big question mark over my head on that one!

 

The girls eyed the young man approvingly and the young men inwardly sighed. Those still single had been hoping to snag Viola for themselves.

 

I wouldn't bother with the second sentence. Pretty redundant.

 

Viola inwardly shattered the image with a silent glare.

 

I had to reread this several times. I didn't understand what it meant.

 

It was one of the reasons she was so good for her purpose

 

Again, 'good' is a very blah word. How about 'perfect', 'ideal' or 'well suited'?

 

...in 13 days and 22 hours they would be joining their ranks.

 

Who and the what now? Try to avoid the words 'they' , 'their', etc, referring to different groups in the same sentence. The meaning of the sentence comes into question.

 

“Hey, sir, look at this.”

...

“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it myself.”

 

I would delay this interlude a little longer, maybe lump it in with the other headquarters scene a little farther down. You tend to lay out your answers immediately after your questions. Building mystery and leaving your reader wondering will build suspense and pull your reader deeper.

 

I was kind of disappointed the snap happened so early. A little more time spent with the group, or even a superficial resemblance between Clint and Josh, would explain her attachment to him later on. ie, if he's just another human, why would his name penetrate her firewall? His name is just meaningless data unless he means something to her.

 

Men in white lab coats grabbed Viola, yanking her off of the scientist.

 

If she's all souped up and cybertronic, could mere humans really restrain her?

 

The men yanked her wig and clothing off, stripping her bare.

 

Why waste the time before you have her subdued? If she needs to see her metal bits, one of the men trying to restrain her could accidentally tear something...

 

“We can’t! We’d have to un-strap her and she’d kill us all.

 

Reference as proof for above comment about regular men not being able to restrain her. Bring on the drugs, baby!

 

"That’ll take several hours at least.” ... it had only been about half an hour... “There you are!” he exclaimed. “You’ve put us severely behind. I was supposed to be working on #117 by now!”

 

If he was supposed to be processing for several hours, and it had only been a half hour, how could Clint have put them severely behind. And he wouldn't have been working on #117 by now, it's only been a half hour!

 

I was also really disappointed by the whole escape thing. Draw it out! Make it dramatic! It's the climax of the story! More struggle, more tears! When Viola gets the emotion chip, why doesn't she kick some serious butt, then she and Clint run through the complex, dodging Eras and bolting past horrors, screams, and rooms with row upon row of dormant cyborgs? THEN they get caught, or walk into a trap when they think they're home free, or something? I could have skimmed the entire description of their struggles and not missed anything. It wasn't involving at all.

 

The scientist placed what appeared to be two sharp needles on either side of 117’s head, directed at each temple. He switched on several computers and watched as their screens loaded up. He pressed a green button and the needles jammed into Viola’s head.

 

Again, hype it up. She has the emotion chip still in. Is she screaming? Spewing obscenities? Is she experiencing overwhelming fear, rage, or what? What does she feel when the needles go in? Static hazing to blackness? Her self of self spiralling away from her grasping fingers? Excruciating pain as the emotion chip collides with the deprogramming of her identity? Just skipping to the next scene gives us no chance to identify with your main character.

 

You are to guide #836 through the Company so that he may learn the paths.

 

Learn the paths? Vague and unscientific. What about, learn operating procedures, prepare for future missions (ominous sense of continuity of the evil company...oooh) or something a little more technical?

 

Immediately her firewall jumped up and cut off that train of though.

 

'Jumped up' is also a weak phrase here. Got anything with more punch?

 

Hopefully that helps. Sorry if I bruised your muse. I really did like the story, otherwise I wouldn't put so much effort into helping you either improve it or your future stories. I look forward to seeing anything else you might write about this character. You could have quite a little adventure evolve out of this short story.

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

Thank you Tralla for all of those critiques! Yes, they will help in the future and I'll get to editing them right away...after my research paper of course...