Homicidal By Design [Hector Escaton]

Chapter 1

"Did you remember to bring epi-pens?"

"Mother I am 27, when are you going to stop asking me if I remembered to bring my epi-pen when I go places?" Isabella Moore joked. She knew the answer to that already: never. Her mom was a perpetual worrier.

Of course, her mom didn't answer — she didn't have to — instead switching gears completely. "Izzy, I cannot wait for you to see some of those gunslingers there…"

"MOM!" Izzy interjected as the bullet train sped her toward her destination: Westworld. How she was talked into spending her vacation time at a supped-up renaissance fair, she would never know. She was already uncomfortable with the android thing; as an attorney, her career was based on seeing how twisted and evil humans could be. She most certainly did not need to see how shitty they were when they didn't have any laws to follow.

"I know, I know…I'm just saying that we built some dashing creatures when I was in the lab! Besides, Len will be with you the whole time. He knows the park very well, he will make sure you see all the good stuff," her mom continued jokingly. Izzy didn't miss the innuendo.

Leonard Price and his parents had been family friends for years; the two met at a Delos gala for shareholders when they were just 5. He had always had a crush on her, and she had always let him know that she wasn't looking for a relationship (which was always partially true). He had taken her to homecoming, prom, soirees, and galas, and everyone, including Izzy's own mom, assumed getting married someday was a foregone conclusion.

Over the last few years, her mother's illness had kept her from actively being a member of the board, but the Moore family owned 10% of Westworld. Together the Moore and Price families owned one fourth of the theme park. For most of her adult life, Izzy had managed to avoid Delos and Westworld, but her mother, Susan, had been a software designer alongside Robert Ford in the olden days. It was only after she became a mother that she wanted to step back from the day to day running of the parks.

Izzy didn't know much about the inner workings of Westworld, but knew that the more lifelike the androids, "hosts" they were called, became, the more distance her mom wanted to put between herself and the company. From photos and videos the robots seemed extraordinary, but to think of the depravity that many people came here for was beyond her. At the end of the day, they might just be robots, but they looked like people. What did that even do to one's psyche?

Perhaps, she thought, it had been different for her mom because she built them; she created backstories and wardrobes and scars. They became more than robots to her. Izzy always felt an odd pang of sadness when she thought of it. How much of an emotional toll it must have taken to create these individuals, to know them inside and out, and then have to send them out to the park like lambs to slaughter. Izzy understood why her mom couldn't do it anymore once she had been born. She didn't think she would ever have been able to do it.

"I still don't see how people can get off like that. Weird."

Her mom laughed. "While I understand your point, and never had any inclination to go down that narrative myself, I think you will be surprised when you get there. At this point, it's hard to tell the humans from the androids. I wouldn't be surprised if you had quite a few suitors—human and host. You will certainly give even the prettiest a run for their money."

"I'll shoot first, kiss later, just to be safe." Izzy retorted dryly. She had already been briefed on the park's rules and safety measures before getting on to the train. Apparently the guns only inflicted damage on the hosts; they were like paint balls to guests. Basically, the guests couldn't really lose, no matter how hard the level they were playing. "Not that I don't yearn for the attentions of rich middle-aged men who are fueling their already inflated egos with a non-stop adrenaline high."