Copyright © 2023 - Written content by J.E. Maurice (unless otherwise credited) - All rights reserved by the creator. Reposting is permitted as long as proper credit is given (I.E., a link to the original story and/or links to the author's social sites.)
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Sylux sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his private quarters, hands folded together, fingers entwined like jointed wires. Per his master’s instructions, he was allowing himself time to rest preceding his next assignment, not that he felt he needed to; the brief skirmish with Costas Zenith’s security team had been somewhat unchallenging, and he was admittedly grateful for that fact. He did not enjoy battle nearly as much as Orion Slade’s cronies seemed to believe he did, rather he relished these minutes of tranquil silence, betwixt the rapid moments of gunfire and decimation. The constant conflict provided him no thrill, nor gratification, but it was necessary violence to protect his master from his many adversaries.
The protogen understood conceptually the reasons why he had been forbade from walking the city streets in the daylight. An unusual creature such as himself would draw attention from all passersby, and his most useful tool as an assassin—his anonymity—would be irreversibly undone. He was always to remain nameless, an unknown, a hazy outline in his master’s shadow. Slade’s survival and reputation were paramount, and Sylux would lay down his own life to protect them, for that was his purpose. Nevertheless, his comprehension of this brought no end to his aspirations. As he watched the distant suns spill their dim rays across the cityscape beyond his single window, his desire to explore the outside world pestered him ceaselessly, gnawing at him like an incurable parasite.
He was aware it was futile. Slade would never allow it, nor would he even consider it. Sylux had often mused unhappily to himself that—if he ever were to present himself to the world—he would be feared and even hated by the populace, as they habitually feared and hated what they did not understand. And how could they understand him, monstrous hybrid of organism and machine that he was? Numerous individuals of this cold world had portions of their bodies replaced or enhanced with robotic parts, but Sylux was far beyond possessing a mere mechanical limb or organ. He was a true cyborg, blent so utterly, his body so integrated with technology that it was impossible to tell where the machine ended, and where he began.
Perhaps their fear of him would be justified, if they knew of what he was capable under orders. Slade’s underlings oftentimes gave Sylux mistrustful, and even terrified glances from the corners of their eyes in the moments they believed he would not notice. He knew their opinion of him was of little consequence, however, as the only important perspective was that of his master; but Sylux could not deny that—from time to time—their sidelong looks of dread bothered him in a way that he did not fully understand.
Sylux’s eyes flicked back into focus as he snapped quickly to reality from his reverie, and his ears twitched as he detected a distant sound. He rose to his padded feet in an instant, and clawed his way up the wall for a better view out of the round window, his red eyes analyzing every detail of the scene before him. The neon city stretched out seemingly into infinity, its vastness unquantifiable from his limited perspective, and somewhere within its labyrinthine network of streets, music was playing faintly.
Even with his keen senses, the song’s origin proved too difficult to pinpoint among the thrum of the metropolis, as it always did. He allowed himself to sink back to the floor, disappointed. His master did not approve of his curious tendencies—especially his poor habit of clambering up the windowsill at the slightest stimulus—and Sylux hoped that no one had been watching his disobedient behavior through the surveillance camera in the corner of the room. Slade’s word was law to Sylux, yet his core instincts sometimes rebelled. Wilhelm Cipher called these split-second decisions “mere glitches,” but the cougar disagreed; he labeled them "immaturity” that would dissipate over time, as Sylux—while built for servility and combat—still had a relatively young mind, and was prone to being occasionally impulsive.
Sylux himself had no opinion on the subject, but naturally assumed his master was correct, in accordance with his programming. His red eyes were drawn to the lens of the security camera, which hung from the ceiling at the intersection of two walls; he now vaguely sensed someone observing him through it, which did nothing to quell his concerns, as he did not know for how long they had been scrutinizing him. He internally shuddered at the thought of disappointing Slade again with his errant conduct, but could only submit to another stern admonishment, assuming that the cougar was informed.
With any luck, it would not come to that. Still, despite this, his ears continued to tilt themselves toward the window, fixating on the faraway music. It was oddly familiar to him; maybe he had heard it before. Perhaps in a dream.
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“I always hate when he looks right into the camera like that,” said Mirage Allers, narrowing her eyes at the screen as a digital image of Sylux gazed back at her. “It’s a bit creepy. It’s like he knows I’m watching him.”
“Well, it probably does know,” said the large silverback next to her, squinting at the holographic screen as well. “With that uncanny sixth sense it has, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Oh, that’s hilarious, Jaxon,” said the jackal, giving him a sideways glare, clearly not amused whatsoever.
“I’m not kidding,” Jaxon Nyx replied gravely. “That thing has always given me the creeps. I can’t believe Orion keeps it around. It’s a goddamn time bomb, if you ask me.”
“Money makes all the decisions around here,” Mirage noted, adding a skeptical scoff before her next sentence. “Sylux is good for business, that’s all. Case closed.”
“I think Orion’s more attached to it than he lets on,” Jaxon mused, scratching his chin. “But I don’t trust it. It’s going to turn on all of us the moment it realizes it doesn’t actually need us.”
“You’re just pissed off that he replaced you,” Mirage jabbed. “He can do your job ten times better than you ever could, and he doesn’t ask for anything.”
She noticed instantaneously that she had struck a nerve, as Jaxon’s face contorted into a silent snarl of contempt, staring fixedly at Sylux’s image on the security feed. The protogen had resumed his cross-legged position on the floor, no longer regarding the camera, as if his interest in it had waned. Mirage wondered for a moment if she had perhaps pushed too far, and decided to backpedal slightly. Her and Jaxon’s relationship had always been moderately antagonistic, but they had developed an almost humorous attitude towards it over the years. Nevertheless, one of them periodically went a bridge too far for the other’s liking.
“Oh, c’mon,” the jackal said, patting the gorilla’s shoulder. “You didn’t want to be a hitman forever, did you? You never thought about retiring?”
“Of course I thought about retiring,” Jaxon grunted. “At some point, of course I did. And I know I’m getting up there in years, but I guess I resent being demoted in favor of that… freak in there. It didn’t spend a lifetime learning to fight, and assembling a network of associates, and organizing covert ops. That was me.”
“You don’t really think you were more effective than he is, do you?” Mirage asked incredulously.
“Obviously not,” Jaxon huffed, annoyed. “I’ve seen that thing fight in the training ground. And I was there when Orion took it to that underground fight club…”
Mirage shook her head, remembering the event. “What a bloodbath,” she said in an undertone, brow furrowed.
“I don’t think I’d last for five seconds going toe-to-toe with it, it’s an engineered killer,” the silverback continued as if he had not heard her. “But it doesn’t have the level of experience that I do. It’ll make mistakes. And sooner or later, it’ll realize that taking orders from Orion was its greatest mistake of all… and it’ll slaughter every single one of us.”
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The dueting suns’ dance began to draw to a gradual close as the early evening wore on, and Sylux became aware of the lateness of the hour; he was in no hurry, however, as he waited in Orion Slade’s office to receive the specifics of his next task. He rather savored the vista of the neon city at dusk, while the gentle rain tapped on the glass, creating a pleasantly hypnotic rhythm. Presently, the protogen’s master made his entrance, accompanied closely by Wilhelm Cipher and Jaxon Nyx. Sylux paid little mind to the gorilla and the wolf, focusing exclusively on Slade.
The cougar wasted no time with pleasantries—aside from gently patting Sylux’s plated shoulder—before expounding the assassin’s orders. Wilhelm and Jaxon listened attentively as Orion began, though they were familiar already with the assassin’s objective.
“Tonight’s target is Gael Zehra,” Slade began, casually placing a hologram projector onto his desk, and activating it. A three-dimensional image of a tall cheetah flickered to life from the projector, casting a blue glow across the four faces watching it. Sylux studied the cheetah closely, taking in all the identifiable features that he was able.
“Gael is a skilled hacker that used to work for Noxcorp,” said Slade, crossing his arms as he glared at the digital re-creation of his executioner’s prey. “Lately, she’s decided that she can make way more money than she can at her day job by hacking into our bank accounts. Law enforcement has once again proved that they’re useless to me. She needs to be stopped as soon as possible. Find her, and terminate her. No witnesses. And be back before sunrise.”
“Yes, master,” Sylux answered, immediately swiveling toward the massive window, and phasing through it in the blink of an eye, materializing outside of it without leaving even a scratch on the glass. Clinging onto the slick outside of the building like a metal spider, the protogen began to effortlessly scale the outer wall, propelling himself to the rooftop in seconds.
As he leapt from roof to roof—evading security cameras, and even the keenest of eyes—his location tracker software seized control of the local law enforcement’s surveillance network, and began to scour it for Zehra’s last known position. Utilizing Sylux’s faultless memory of the cheetah’s physical characteristics, his facial recognition system pinpointed where she was last spotted in mere minutes.
Sylux pivoted ninety degrees to his left, and darted northward toward the most direct route to his mark, droplets of water collecting on his face as the raindrops began to fall at an increased rate. At his current speed, he would arrive at Gael Zehra’s last known position within the hour.
And she would greatly regret purloining his master’s pockets.
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END OF ENTRY 002.
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