“Father?” 

A tall man looked down at his son. 

“What is it?” The boy looked over at a casket in front of him. 

“Is sister in that?” He asked. Pointing towards the elegant floral painted death bed.

The man rested a hand on his son’s redhead. He didn’t say anything, just a small, broken smile. 

The boy was confused. Why was his sister in the box? People told him she was in there but he wanted to know why they couldn’t see her. Why she wasn’t there with them. The boy looked around. These people he did not know but the words that came out of their mouths.

“What a horrible thing.” “I heard they beat her face in.” “What do you expect from a man who let his daughter run around like that.”

Gossip. 

Something that made the boy’s blood boil and he didn’t even know what was going on. His anger subsided when he felt his father grabbed his hand. A small warmth was all he needed to know that his sister was never coming back. A father and son bond, where silence meant more than words did. 

A slight squeeze of a hand was all that was needed, a sign that it was alright to cry and he did.

Error 02

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“A shearing stab, but no blood. What is this?”

“Who are you?”

“My sharp breath. Yet I can not move.”

“Do you know me?”

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The sound of machinery echoed throughout the building. A slight humming noise coming from a closed door held a whimsical tune. The creaking sound as it opened, stopped the person in mid-hum. A sandy blonde haired woman, in her early 30’s, gave a frustrated sigh as she adjusted her glasses with her free hand.

“This door always needs fixing.” A small laugh turned her frustration elsewhere. 

“You know Clare, doors don’t talk back.” 

Clare frowned, adjusting her white lab coat. “What are you doing here? I thought you had the day off?” 

The man yawned as he scratched his day old beard. His brown messy hair was a telltale sign he had just gotten up.

“It was, but I got a call.” 

Clare snide. “Really, what about then?” 

The man frowned. “It has to do with the new modules we have out.” 

Clare sighed, rolling her eyes. “You mean the 80 class.” She leaned her body on the side of the wall.

The man nodded. He walked over to Clare, resting on the same wall. “It’s only the assassination model this time around. The arm blade is stuck.” The man pondered a bit. “Must be because of all the blood that builds up every once in a while.”

 He said it so nonchalantly that Clare found amusement in it.

Clare laughed. “You’re a sick one Will.” 

Will smiled. “But I’m not the one laughing, now am I Clare?” Clare ceased laughing abruptly. She looked away from Will. “Is it all right?” 

Will frowned at that question. “No, it’s not alright. We have no choice in the matter anyways.”

Will had had enough, he had to go to work on his new toy anyways. He went up and started to leave. Clare stood there waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure. Will stopped but didn’t look back at her. 

“Clare, listen to me.” Clare did. She didn’t want to miss anything. “If you even think about running, the organization will send an assassination model after you. All you have to do is grit and bear it.” 

Clare clenched her fist. “Is… is that why they killed..!?” 

Will's fist slammbed into the wall to stop her from speaking. “Don’t mention that name, let alone what happened, got it! Just do as I say and I promise…” Will looked over at Clare and smiled. “Just do as I say, Okay Clare.” 

Clare nodded. Will turned away again and walked through double doors.

The woman couldn't help but glance away, trying to calm her own heart. 

She started humming again.

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Will yawned for the umpteenth time. His lab coat was crinkled and stained but he didn’t care for the matter. He just grabbed a pack of cleaning tools and headed for another room. In the new room the walls lined up with numbers that were in 80-89. Will looked over at a sheet of paper and sighed. 

The maintenance was on an 80 model. He grumbled while he walked down the room.

“Why couldn’t be 11 or 66, 44 even. Why 88?”

Will moodily brooded at a door with the numbers “88” plastered on it. He stood there for a while, trying to figure out how to work with this one. Before he could punch in the numbers, a small giggle was heard. Will cringed out of irritation. He let his hand drop from the numbering pad and turned around.

There before him was a little boy. A smile plastered on his face as bright as day. Will looked down. “What are you doing here 23?” 23 smiled and grabbed the man’s hand. 

“88 isn’t in there today. He’s already in the processing room.”

Will laughed. “Great, so you are just sending me right to the beast.” 

23 smiled, all hyped up without a care. “I do not know what you mean.” Will rolled his eyes. He still hadn’t figured out why they gave 23 a child’s persona, possibly bring a life in a thing not even living? 23 pushed open the door with quite ease as he let go of Will’s hand. The boy ran over to the other model. “88, come look! Come look!” 23’s attempts were useless, the redheaded man never responded. 23 crossed his arms and frowned. He started stomping his foot. “The only time you speak is when you are on a mission.”

Will sighed. 23 was already getting on his nerves, not to mention he had to work on the newest model available. “23 he works on command from the headquarters system. There should be no reason for him to talk to you.” Will started pulling out some cleaning tools. 88 just stared off in the distance. 

23 started bouncing off the walls. “NOOOOT true!” He whined. “88 does take orders from me!” Will really would have wanted to kill the person responsible for making 23. But killing one of the Bosses was never a good idea to begin with.

“Yeah, but you also get your information from headquarters too.” 23 stomped off, being bratty as usual. “You are no fun!” Slamming the door in the process. Will secretly prayed if he had any children they would not act like that. Will caught himself. 23 wasn’t actually a boy, let alone a human. He was getting a migraine but at least one problem was gone. Will turned his attention back to 88 and walked over to him.

“Number 88. Manual work number 108801. ID: William Henslin. Entry number 134.”

88’s gray eyes flashed as his right arm extended. Will grabbed it carefully as he turned the arm wrist side up. A tattoo of the number “88” was visibly seen.

“I was told you had a dysfunction in your arm blade. Is that correct?” 88 responded coldly. Chills went up Wills spine. “That is correct.”

Will hit a small button, masked as a freckle that split the wrist open. There, neatly inside, laid a bloodied blade. Will pulled the blade out by hand and opened it. He could see why the arm blade didn’t work, it was never bothered to be cleaned with. Even if the 80 models were new, maintenance was not well up there for standards as other models. Will cleaned the blade and retracted it back into 88’s arm.

He sighed frustrated that he knew he would have to clean it again. “Why can they make the models maintain themselves?” The split closed up and 88 rested his arm by his side. 

“Order is clear. 88 will maintain maintenance systems.” 

Will went white as a ghost. He had no idea that the 80 system was workable by command, it wasn't in the programing. Not only that but it was a simple suggestion to himself.

Will smiled. At least this was one job he didn’t have to clean again, hopefully.

“Number 88. Manual work number 108801. ID: William Henslin. Exit number 431.”

Will yawned again, looking forward to pack up and go home. Then he heard a ping. He sighed again and turned around.

“Hello 23.” 

23 smiled. “Is 88 ready?” 

“Yes, he is ready.” 

23 grabbed Will’s hand again, something Will was getting rather use to and walked back over to 88. 23 extended his hand to 88. 88 didn’t even bother trying. All he did was start walking. 23 frowned and started pouting, squeezing Will’s hand a little too tight.

“Ouch…” Will complained. “Why’d I punch that wall.” 

23 looked up, blinking. “Ouch?” 

Will smiled. “It’s nothing for you to worry about 23. Let’s get 88 back. Then I’ll put you up okay?” 23 was thrilled. “Really?” 23 started swinging his hand back and forth, Will’s followed the same motion forcefully. 88 trailed ahead, glancing back momentarily at the two behind him. His red hair hid his gray eyes. It reminded him of something. Of a man and a boy long ago. 

Something pulled at him, but 88 kept walking forward. His gray eyes fixated on something that was never there, yet once was.

88 did not understand as he wasn't supposed to understand.

Something shouldn't have been there but it was.

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“A shearing stab, but no blood. What is this?”

“Who are you?”

“My sharp breath. Yet I can not move.”

“Do you know me?”

***********************************************************************************

“Am I you?”

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