Endling

Chapter Two

The sky is turning from hazy twilight and wispy clouds to thick inky blackness. Very few stars poke through, dissuaded by the glare from the buildings and houses that bedazzle almost every inch of the ground below. It is just after curfew in Happydale, the good citizens filed away in their housing units. The conditions are prime for hunting.

The Epsilon Retriever Model number 77, or ERM77 for short, glides through the sky like an eel, sleek and nearly silent. The vehicle he rides looks like a cross between a hover board and an ironing board with a glowing red scanner on its underside, taking in information like a bar code scanner. The scanner takes in cues from what is going on inside the residences but it has trouble with the more densely populated multi-unit dwellings. ERM77 lies face down on his craft, peering over the edge as it zigzags over the rooftops. Steel and concrete and shingles make a quilt of the rooftops with sidewalk trim. ERM77 takes it all in, calculating, computing, gathering data.

If you saw ERM77 on the street you might think him an ordinary citizen. But all ERMs are machine-human hybrids programmed by the government for a single purpose -- to hunt Endlings, those who shield them and other dissenters. This became necessary when a handful of defiant mothers retained their protective instincts toward their offspring instead of considering the greater good. The Endlings are humanity's only hope of surviving as a species and they must be contained. Humans have already proven they can't take care of nice things, so guess what. No one gets Endlings but military sanctioned wranglers. ERM has tracked one here and now he stalks.

Little insects adrift in the sky collide with ERM77's unblinking eyes as if they were a windshield. He fixes on the gleaming white charging stations on every corner. Everybody needs power for their devices, so ERM77 has frequently cornered a rogue Endling mother there. He never fails to meet his quota.

The smell of simmering beef broth and onions emanates from the apartment buildings revealing the evening meal's rations and giving the illusion of coziness and safety. Rows of concrete pathways wind between the buildings and houses and ERM77's eyes trace every inch like a pencil on a maze.

To make the job of finding the rogue Endlings and their mothers easier, each sentient being on the planet is associated with over 500,000 data points, many but not all based on online behavior. ERMs have access to all the data points since the Data Access Act of 2075. Resisters protesters, but low voter turnout made it a law. Humans have such a weakness for social media validation it occupies on average 33% of a human's energy rations and provides so many delicious data points. Predictive modeling tells ERM what the rogue citizens are most likely to do next and their propensity for certain responses. ERM garners a 99.9% success rate on average. The data can also be used to leverage his prey's greatest fears, which can be exceedingly effective.

ERM77 lands his craft next to a modern stone high rise that from a distance looks like it is made of marshmallows. The air feels thick and clammy. The scanners are picking up on something here. The streets and sidewalks are empty and the only sound is that of ERM77's joints creaking as he dismounts his vehicle. He looks at his handheld device. The images of the two rogue citizens he has been tracking appear on the screen – Zeke and Sadie Loyal. The images become clearer the closer he gets and now he can practically see the pores on their faces.

ERM77 lays a massive hand on the stone exterior of the building to see if he can detect the heat of the human bodies inside and exactly how many there are. The headcount needs to sync to with the building registry, if not he has permission for a room-to-room search. He'll call for backup and 30 ERM's will appear in moments. But first, he must calculate.

Inside the building, a chime alerts Sadie and Zeke that someone is at the door. Sadie looks at Zeke and he know it's time to hide between the walls. On Sadie's doorbell app, she sees its her mother Daria in a colorful top with matching gas mask dangling around her neck accompanied by a vibrant scarf. Behind her, the other residents dart around like fish in a bowl. With a sigh of relief, Sadie releases several deadbolts and lets her mom in.

"What is that lovely pattern on your shirt Mother, cotton candy meets exploding rainbow?" Daria Loyal waves her comment off. She is her own sort of rebel and is fiercely devoted to the well-being of her daughter Sadie and grandson Zeke. She can also be annoying as hell to Sadie but they love each other beyond words. Daria is the only one on this planet who loves Zeke as much as Sadie does. She shuns the typical drab fashions of the day for her relics of fashion past. After distributing air kisses, Dara asks if Sadie has any more of the contraband scotch she acquired and muses about how great it was when people had ice all year round. She looks at Sadie hard and comments about how tired she looks. Hasn't she been using the contraband sleeping pills they acquired with said scotch?

"Mom, I have more important things to worry about than the bags under my eyes. Seriously." Sadie admonishes her mom for wanting scotch at a time like this, when people are starving. "I don't know what you want me to do about it," Daria retorts, "give them a healthy hummus snack? No need to be uncivilized," Sadie pours her mother two fingers of scotch neat while reminding her of the task at hand.

"The magician's trick, the art of distraction. Got you covered, baby," Daria chirps. And Sadie knows she will. That will give Sadie a small window for her vlog post to get likes/shares and start seeding erroneous data. Zeke is already starting to concentrate on some distracting thoughts for this ERM's brain.

Outside in the silent and muggy night, ERM77 has completed his calculations. Only two citizens above count. Hardly alarming, but still, wouldn't hurt to shake down the residents for good measure. He begins to signal for backup and then stops when the front door of the building bursts open. A woman runs out in a flash of neon fabric. ERM77 abandons his call to chase the lawbreaker down. One, she is out after curfew. Two, her bright clothes suggest she does not abide by the drab clothing that is standard issue. It's a soft rule, not really enforced, but this ERM's a stickler and he'll easily apprehend the rogues shortly anyway. The woman slips around the corner and ERM77 takes his time mounting his vehicle, confident he can catch up with her, like he does. As he rounds the corner he sees her, standing out against the concrete landscape like a splash of graffiti. Gotcha, he thinks with a yawn.

But then she waves at him and disappears into thin air.

ERM77's sensors start flashing alerts about losing a signal. He is suddenly feeling disoriented and confused. This does not compute. He blurts out a single word, "Pikachuuuu!" And suddenly has an urge to catch 'em all. Pokémon, that is.