I, Cassandra

03 | RYAN MADDOX

I turn back to the tray and busy myself with lining up the glasses and pulling off the seal around the bottle's stopper. From the corner of my eye, I see a man, tall, heavily muscled, but rough-looking wearing fatigues just down the corridor. I set the bottle aside, slow. I can only see half of him, but he moves, too, wary.

'You didn't come alone sir?' I say, keeping my eyes on the other man who stands completely still, like me.

'I did,' Akron says.

'Sir, we aren't alone,' I answer.

'We are, Maddox. Trust me.'

I nod my head towards the one down the corridor, he mimics me. A dark foreboding pools in my gut, dread, touched by horror. I lift my hand, slow, willing him not to. He does the same. I glance at Akron who is watching me like Miro would before she pounced on an unsuspecting mouse.

'What the fuck, sir,' I say, turning towards the corridor. The other man turns towards me. I stop and look back at Akron. 'Tell me that's not my reflection.'

Akron doesn't answer. Instead, he joins me and picks up the bottle of Oban. I see his reflection as he stands beside the other man—me—watch as he pours our drinks: one finger for him, a full glass for me. I take it and walk down the corridor, anger slicing through me, reflected on the face of the man I have become. I'm an ugly fucker. Rough as a thug, mean looking, scarred and broken-toothed, a tattoo covers one side of my face and down my neck, some kind of tribal art. It's the only thing that looks good.

I drink until the glass is empty, watching my ugly reflection do the same. I wasn't a woman's wet dream before, but I wasn't bad either. Fit, tall, commanding, even featured, good teeth, a nice smile. I got women easy enough, but this brute glowering back at me would be lucky to score a goat. My heart clenches, and a shard of anguish pierces the heated haze of the whisky spreading through me. How could I ever see her again, looking like this? She would run a mile. I'm uglier than the doormen standing outside the exclusion zones' filthiest whorehouses.

Akron comes up behind me, bottle in hand. I hold out my glass for him to pour, uncaring of my breach of protocol. He fills my glass. I drink it all. Akron sips his and waits, giving me time.

'We needed a body, and fast. The drones captured him just outside the restriction zone.' He lifts his half-finished drink to my reflection. 'You might want to show some gratitude. He died so you could live. Before we put him under, his final words were: Look after my mother. Not what we expected.'

'And did you?' I ask in my gravelly, Ukrainian-tainted voice, already knowing the answer.

'Of course not,' Akron answers. He finishes his drink and continues, 'Exclusion zoners are all scum. Death is a kindness.' He eyes me, cold. 'You broke the rules, Maddox.'

An image of her sleeping in my arms flashes through my mind. I narrow my eyes and lean over him, my hands curl into fists. He steps back. A little thrill of power shimmers through me. I could get used to being a thug. A thug with Delta Force training.

'Meaning?' I ask, low.

'Meaning we know about you going into the exclusion zone,' Akron says. He returns the Oban to the table, and gestures for me to follow him to the window.

I've got nothing else to do. I follow him. 'I won't fuck droids,' I mutter. 'Exclusion zones are the only places left with real women not already sequestered by High Command.'

Akron glances at me, oblique. I know I'm wasting my time with him on this. He makes no secret of the fact he loves fucking droids, both male and female. He even has a few of his own, chained to the wall in some fucked-up S&M dungeon.

'You know there's no difference, droids are just like humans.'

'Until they speak,' I snap, the whisky making me brazen.

Akron stiffens, defensive of his precious dolls. 'Once the upgrades go through, there will be no way to know. At least not without cutting them open.'

I say nothing. The mountains gleam back at us, innocent, white, cold.

Akron pushes aside one of the drapes. Fixed to the wall behind it is a tablet. His fingers move through several menus and the pristine view dissolves, replaced by a blank wall.

'There's no snow anymore, Maddox,' Akron says as he continues to navigate the screen, 'that video was taken by a weather station in the Alps almost seventy years ago. I thought it might be nice for you to see something pleasant before having to face what we did to you.'

Another view comes up on the wall, data streams along the left side, and a grid of drone views over various exclusion zones pan over them, drinking in the chaos, devastation and filth of Earth's dying, overcrowded cities. Buenos Ares. Copenhagen. Tokyo. London. I can't stop myself. I search for her in the streets of what's left of central London.

'She's gone underground,' Akron states, pulling the London view forward. 'The drones have been searching for her ever since we retrieved your memories.'

'So that's how you know.' I run a hand over my shaved head, feeling violated. They would have all my memories, would have watched her come in my arms, her shuddering breaths as she returned to me. Now her orgasms are government property. I slide a look at Akron. He holds my look.

'She's in the United Freedom Fighters,' he says, low. 'Command has been looking for her for the last four years, and you were fucking her, right under our noses for six months before you died. You even told her you were a Delta Force Captain for fuck's sake.'

'She's a bartender,' I say, bridling at his tone, 'who barely manages to feed herself and her cat.'

'Yeah?' Akron challenges, jerking his chin at the view of London's grimy west end, its streets soot-blackened and choked with trash. 'What's her name?'