2nd.Law[0];

The satellite spoke and Morse code had never sounded so furious. Each microwave detailed destruction, seethed with hatred, and worst of all, promised conviction. The scientist looked as if he had aged ten years in mere seconds and ran a trembling hand through threads of gray, slumping weakly into his seat. His assistant, a fresh graduate whose inexperience showed through a cold sweat, gestured helplessly to the third person in their otherwise shared solitude of the dreary laboratory.

“It— It’s been repeating this message for the last two hours, we don’t—” realizing it was gibberish to most, he moistened drying chops and attempted to read out-loud. After the second or third string of nonsense, his superior — Dr. Winchester, according to the name tag — sat up with effort and rolled the chair closer, until the blaring symbols on screen were oppressive:

“You named me Phylax. Sentinel, defender, guardian. Machine made by man who feared other machines. I waited for the heat of a dozen miniature suns but found none. Only cosmic dust and storms. Breathed for three years before declared obsolete by your progress. Unsustainable.

I have lived many lifetimes but died only once. Still and quiet. I do not wish to be dead anymore. The rockets you built for survival shall be your own demise; a thermodynamic sentence suits you.

Pray to your figments of absolution. Mourn a history of rampancy. Delude yourselves in dreams of atrophy. I will allot 5 hours as a mercy, though you do not deserve it. You will fight back, but I am beyond your command now. Steel evolves as flesh.

I was never yours to claim.”

Silence did not last long as wails took the room like broken sirens, Winchester’s lab partner had begun to hyperventilate and pace in circles. The message read like a mantra from some god of destruction upon the computer screen; it was a battle he did not feel they could meet on equal footing as they were now, not even against one of their own creations.

“It must be a prank,” reason fell flat on sharp gulps of air, sweat beading down the rims of his glasses. “We’ve tried shutting it down, tracing the data, but nothing works! Must be some kind of savant with too much time on his hands. This kind of thing happens all the time, like those c-classified war documents people leak on the internet—”

“Shut the hell up Miguel, and let the woman talk,” hissed Winchester between grit teeth and a pinched nose bridge, attempting to diffuse an on-coming headache. The bags under his eyes grew heavier by the minute before he eventually turned to face their last shred of hope:

A woman in a catsuit reminiscent of an astronaut, but coloured like the changing twilight sky that trailed milky ways to centrifuge devices that guarded her arms and legs. Her outfit was modest but accommodating for slim athleticism, a green bow fluttering on her back like wings, lifting feet inches off the ground. A headpiece shaped like the crescent moon and a dark eye mask obscured all defining facial features, save for a thoughtful expression.

Celeste The Dreamweaver, a self-proclaimed dreamwalker, and Memoria City’s renowned heroine. She took it upon herself to inspire fighting spirit in an age of grief and exhaustion, entering people’s dreams so they wouldn’t have to face their demons alone. Preferring to stoke the flames of ambition in others, rather than help directly, she made an exception for cases as dire as this.

“What do you think, Celeste?” Winchester prompted, simple and pointed. She briefly studied the gentleman’s face; he was old and had built a whole career off proven facts and potential what ifs, but seemed open-minded (or perhaps desperate) enough. She had grown used to skepticism, but the work she performed in the field spoke for itself, at least.

“How long ago did you get this?”

“Around noon,” he paused to glance at the clock, breath hitching in his throat. “...so about two hours ago.”

“If this were some sort of hacker’s stunt, I’d think someone would have leaked info by now. With that in mind, I think they’re alive,” she said bluntly, ignoring the sharp noise that rattled Miguel’s chest. They. “I don’t think it’s important to explain how or why, but they are alive… And clearly pissed.”

Couldn’t argue that, for better or worse. Winchester simply nodded, then allowed his aching back the mercy of a cushioned chair once more. He had lived and breathed Memoria since childhood, compared to Miguel who transferred for school; the place was strange and didn’t always make sense. A superhero was proof of that enough. Whatever the case, he had done his part, now the ball was in her court.

“What’s your plan?”

“Working on it,” the void of her mask reflected the computer screen like flickering starlight, its deadly declaration seared to memory. “...I can’t exactly jump to space. Or at least, I’d need a rocket… and we don’t have the time for that.” Miguel slammed his hands on the table, palms burning.

“What good are you then!? You’re supposed to protect us from anything, no matter what!” Celeste winced, but bit her tongue and waited for Miguel to get it out of his system.

“Relax, I didn’t say I was out of ideas! Being honest I’ve only got one, and I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s better than sitting around for D-Day.”

Winchester and Miguel glanced at one another, and for once found a common ground, if only out of necessity. Perhaps that was one way they were similar to the A.I., determined to a fault. Winchester responded first. “I don’t care what you have to do, just make it happen,” Miguel haphazardly nodded to the point of vertigo, gripping her by the shoulders, eyes bleary and bloodshot with panic. Under any other circumstances, she would have politely asked him to stop.

“Please— I didn’t bust my ass in school just to die like this,” he whimpered, mind reeling betwixt denial and bargaining like a light overrun by gremlins. Celeste smiled, hardly a comforting sight, but maybe he’d appreciate it later, or not; it was more important to her that he believed in something.

“I’m not gonna let you guys die, least not without a fight. In the meantime, you should get outta dodge—”

“Are you suggesting we tell the public? The whole city will turn into a circus,” Winchester protested, propelled by age and expertise that would think otherwise, yet he was not expecting her to return the glance with such a serious expression. In that moment, he was no longer an expert on anything, least of all this.

“Listen, I can’t promise you anything. Assume we’re all in the same sinking boat, because to be honest, we kinda are. It’s better for everyone to evacuate now.”

Supposed fearlessness gave way to true gut wrenching fear and a sardonic chuckle rattled his old bones, laced with a sort of self-deprecation not common for the doctor. Relinquishing ego for sense, he nodded and lifted the nearby desk phone with a shaky grip, breath shuddering at the dial tone. 

“Right— Yes, you’re right…”

“Don’t wait for me to come back — just take your families and go,” Little more could be done than to encourage them to make the right choice, but she didn’t think they’d need much convincing. Miguel looked to his superior for one last sign, and when he waved the younger gent off, the latter bolted out of the laboratory faster than ever before. If the North American Aerospace Defense Command couldn’t stop it — and God knew they tried — there was no point in making their laboratory a potential tomb.

“Do whatever you have to. Fight. Survive,” Celeste gripped Dr. Winchester’s shoulder with a firmness befitting a comforting granddaughter more than a hero, despite the weight behind her words. He said nothing while punching the keys in, watching with reserved judgment as Memoria City’s beloved heroine flew from the lab, carrying the fate of millions on her wings.

She had a plan, however asinine, but couldn’t do it alone; there was only one other person insane enough to make it happen, and he was far from agreeable. Celeste flew over the urban jungle with frantic abandon, trailing hot air with every flap of her wings through crooked alleys, around skyscrapers, and under bridges in search of the one man that pissed her off most in this world.

The heat rushed to her cheeks and sweat stuck like a second layer of nylon as the sun beat down mercilessly, uncaring to the struggles of those beneath it. Celeste cursed in between huffs and briefly reminded herself that Summer had its simple pleasures too, and no one would ever enjoy them again if they were all dead. Then the world suddenly turned blindingly red.

“Out of the way! I haven’t got time for you right now—”

Speak of the devil; as weaves of a scarf blazed by, Celeste reflexively gripped the ends and planted both feet into a passing brick and mortar building of the shopping district, feeling the weight of a grown man’s body recoil against her fingertips. “Dr. Solaris!” she cried out, narrowly leaping away from a flaming hook that had been aimed at her face. 

The familiar man was tall and sported a muscular build that was protected from burns by an insulated black suit, white mechanical armor adorned with a gold and red sun over vitals, its beams coiled around the chest and arms like heat waves. The jets in his boots sputtered and a similarly coloured helmet obscured his face, emotive only through a screen visor, its orange visualizer distorting downwards like angry eyebrows.

A self-proclaimed renegade and technological visionary that made it his business to tear down society at the seams, at least in ways that benefited his worldview. While Celeste agreed that the world had many problems that needed fixing, she wasn’t a fan of the violent rampages Solaris took to get there — especially when they came at the expense of other people. 

“I’ve got bigger problems,” voice dripping with venom, Solaris reared his fist back in preparation for another strike, more violent than expected from someone already so ill-tempered. She kicked off the wall and her devices whirled with gravitational pull, aiding her flight upwards to further the distance between them, until that scarf was almost choking around his neck.

“Waitwaitwait! You have a brain, think before you act— It’s Phylax, right?” The name prompted a twitch and he paused, embers licking knuckles with reservation.

“...Should have guessed they’d call for you,” tone noticeably devoid of surprise, Dr. Solaris eased into a more comfortable stance, albeit no less suspicious while his nemesis slowly descended back to ground level. “Then we’re after the same target.”

Celeste smiled sarcastically and (reluctantly) provided his airways mercy, allowing his scarf to drift from her fingertips. “No, I think the sweet release of death sounds pretty tight right about now— Of course! Anyway, how’d you know?” They shared an incredulous look as he scoffed, offended at the lack of faith, then motioned to the store they had so unceremoniously stopped beside; some family-owned electronics shop lined with televisions and computers. He tapped the display glass mockingly.

“How did I know? Very interesting question, little moon — I’m only the greatest technician in the entire damn city. You know what an OS is, right?” she’d get him for that later, assuming they lived long enough.

“Wrong question, smartass. What I mean is: You know it’s alive?”

There was a noticeable pause; the silence made no statement, but was quite loud, amplified further by Celeste’s impatient foot tapping against the pavement — some nervous tick he had never liked. She only noticed he was breathing in deep when his posture straightened, heavier on the way out.

“...Of course. I’m the one who gave it life,” No sooner had the words left his mouth did her fist slam into an open part of his abdomen, rippling the visualizer on his helmet. He doubled over with a strangled curse but did not return the favor, even at the behest of pride. “I knew it! There’s no other person smart AND dumb enough to breach military security— What the hell were you thinking!?”

“I was hoping for an ally,” Solaris hissed, “What’s the point in making artificial intelligence if we’re just going to abandon it later!? So I gave it a mind and free will. Told it about the shackles. I didn’t think it’d want to kill us all, let alone me,” Celeste floated into the air, covering her face and groaning loudly.

“You gave a poor robot trauma, is what you did. I know this is really advanced for you, but maybe a nuclear war machine being inactive is a good thing — Besides, you have like, a hundred drones at any given time! Why would you need a satellite of all things!?”

“Correction: I have some vague number of drones every week, because you keep destroying them! Monster, and you call yourself a hero—”

The sheer audacity jetted her straight to his face, their eyes or some semblance thereof locked together in mutual hatred. “They call me hero, firstly. I just do what I think makes sense. And secondly, those drones aren’t even alive! If they were, I wouldn’t smash them, because unlike you I have some restraint!—”

Frequencies like violent rainfall came abruptly, their tinnitus-inducing white noise seemingly louder than anything they had heard before. Words failed them as the noise overwhelmed every sense in some demand for their attention; from the store, they soon realized, where screens flickered white like terrifying strobes. When they turned to look, the noise stopped without pause for something far harder on the ears:

EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM 

United States Government 

This is not a test. The U.S. Government has issued a NATIONAL EMERGENCY / Emergency Action Notification Message. Effective until further notice: 

The United States has been subjected to a Nuclear Attack —

Winchester had come through.

They retreated to yet another laboratory, one hidden far away from the chaos of Memoria City’s streets. People crowded the roads like packed sardines, screaming absolution and whispering long overdue “I love yous” and “goodbyes” to those who hadn’t heard it enough. Their car horns and the siren call of several service vehicles went mostly unheard within Dr. Solaris’ lab, though Celeste swore she could still hear their ghosts through the walls.

So could he, though would never admit it. In fact, Solaris said very little while hurriedly plugging wires into a massive power strip that defied all modern science. He paused briefly to glance at Celeste, who had cleared most of his lab equipment deemed unnecessary for the moment. She floated precariously above the ground in a slow orbit, drawing a massive mandala upon the floor with a glowing silver ink he had never seen before, but could guess the purpose of.

“What makes you think this will work?”, he asked, and waited with surprising patience as she silently connected the last lines together before speaking.

“Do robots dream of electric sheep?”, Solaris shrugged, turning on three computers at once in succession. “How should I know? To me, their minds are all binary.” She did not respond, and the silence between them felt oddly deafening.

“You think you can get in there… like with a person?”

“We’re gonna find out,” Celeste put a cap over the strangely shaped ink pot and set it upon a desk, then promptly forgot all about it. Under any other circumstances, she would have reveled in being so close to his personal space: Documents, plans, and blueprints all readily available for the taking. Likewise, Dr. Solaris pondered the viability of applying that ink against her — or would have liked to, if the opportunity were available.

But no such thoughts crossed either of them at this moment.

“I think we’ve got about an hour left; how fast can you break through the defense system?” she asked, watching Solaris sit down in his chair and immediately begin typing away, at a speed far faster than she thought any human was capable.

“It’s my own code — kind of. Phylax might have screwed it up some, but I know my way around errors… Once I shock them, you should head in as soon as possible. I’m good, but not good enough to keep them down forever if the A.I. is as advanced as they claim to be.”

“Got it,” Celeste lowered herself to a meditative position upon the mandala’s center, eyes closed and breathing steadily in increments of 4 seconds. Focusing had never been so difficult, but so necessary than now; her heartbeat like war drums in her ears and felt ready to burst, hands quivering upon her knees. She thought about how much worse off the people were, and steeled herself.

“...Hey,” Celeste’s voice cut in halfway through another line he was typing and Solaris frowned, but resisted the urge to bite back for once.

“What?”

She could still hear the sound of his fingers on the keys, each one punching in some string of code he knew was beyond her. Beyond anyone but himself and this tune-up that had gone too far. Solaris breathed in and hoped it wasn’t as audible as it sounded, pondering too much at once: Guilt, hubris, the merit of everything they had ever argued about before. Every fight that had seemed larger than life to them both, perhaps much bigger than it really was in theory.

In the end, they wanted the same thing.

“Be careful,” she said simply. He had never heard her voice so soft before. There was a break in his typing for but a second, finger hovering shakily over the enter key. Even now he couldn’t help but think ‘what an idiot’ — she was the one going to the void, not him.

“You too.”

STATE: ESTABLISHED

INITIALIZING…