After some time passed to claim himself, Carlo finally stood up.
"Computer, status report." Suddenly, loud static feedback blasted throughout the room, making Carlo cringe while covering his ears. "Hey, recalibrate before you try responding!" After another sharply pitched tear to the eardrum, a voice came out from the ceiling
"Master! Ah!" Said a woman who sounded like she was in the midsts of carnal pleasure
"…Why…why do you sound like that?" he asked. More static followed.
"My voice modifier is busted, busted wide open, ah shit, so I'm streaming internet clips from the neighboring areas to construct my vocals until I can get the proper repairs. OH FUCK!" Loud collective moans filled the room. Carlo, buried in his head in his arms let out an exasperated sigh.
"I've made so many mistakes in such a short amount of time, it's astounding,” he said bitterly. “Change it if you can, please. This is a Christian house.” Another static sound echoed through the house. "Computer?" Carlo said, looking around. "Are you decent?" Carlo got nothing from the machine except for a long pause. “...Computer?”
Suddenly a man's voice came out from the walls of the room. "Ahh fuck!"
"I don't know why I thought it’d be different - look, computer, what's the status of the house?" Carlo asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. After another heavy grunt, the computer answered.
"Ohh it’s so busted. Everything, on the tits, is wrecked. I think that ass is just fine as hell."
"I...wow. Ok, so nothing above survived. Which means the main lab is finished I assume? Are any Monte Carlo androids still operational?"
"Ugh, it hurts! Sleepytime."
"So only the ones in storage. Unfortunate. What about my accounts?"
"I've been watching you."
“Who?”
“Ugh, everyone!”
"So The League and the fat man are still monitoring my accounts. Dammit." Carlo stood up leaning his withered body against the wall. "No lab, no money, no problem.” Carlo squeezed the bridge of his nose. His hand, shaking. “That's a lie. I’m lying to myself out loud. Oh lord." He stayed quiet before finally laughing to himself "You’re stupid….you’re so stupid. Oh god...you..." He closed his eyes. Weighing his options, it was clear he was a dead man. Not in a literal sense, not yet, but his life in New York was over. Years of crawling his way up from poverty into positions where he could pivot between the most radical of justice-seeking do-gooders to the lowest scum of the underworld had come to a head. He had played too hard for too long.
Death doesn't care about plans, wants, or desires. Its cosmic indifference is its most frightening feature, for whatever one thinks of destiny, hope, or worth, all are meaningless in the face of coming oblivion. Carlo grew up in a place that operated the same, so he understood this. But in Carlo’s twisted brain, an abyss meant space, and in that bottomless pit, he could either be falling or flying, it was up to him.
"Computer, execute order 1-11," Carlo said slowly, lifting his head from the door. A bit of static feedback traveled through the walls again
"Ahh, you sure you want that?"
"Ick. I told you to change that. And yes I’m sure. A restless soul comes from things not said and duties not done. James 1:2 verse 4 ‘“when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.’”
"Ohh what's that," said the computer in a warm vocal clip.
"It means that because I have no choice, then there is only one choice. One direction, onwards. Simple answer really.”
“This is gonna be a cakewalk," said the computer in an 80s action movie voice.
“My thoughts exactly. Now let's get things rolling." Another static sound came from the walls followed by a preacher's sermon in full force.
"Do you feel empowered! Is there any other way to take the day! The lord came back, he rose and so will you, we will all rise witchu brother!" As the computer began to play the sermon audio stream, Carlo walked into his closet.
"Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace …"
It took some time, but he emerged from his closet dressed in a white waffle shirt, brown cargo pants, and a pair of black Timbs. In his left hand was a .38 special with a snub nose and an ammo strap that dangled a collection of cylinders, each with colored rounds in their six chambers. He placed the gun strap down on his bed, along with what was tucked under his arm, a metal gauntlet. Silver, with a similar to the hand of his mechanized exoskeleton but much slimmer. It had no fingers instead it was strapped to the hand like a wrist brace getting tighter to the center along the line of the knuckle. Two inches over the knuckle was a circular pneumatic ram that connected to the top with a small piston on it. He encased the rest of his up to the forearm inside the cylinder gauntlet. He shook it around a little until its small motor began to hum
Carlo turned towards his hallway, leaned back, and shot his arm forward. The small piston on the top pumped back and forth, with the punch unleashing a concentrated burst of kinetic energy. A small gust of air shook the room, rattling the ladder at the end of the hall.
Carlo looked down at the gauntlet nodding to himself in approval. He went back into his closet again to retrieve his black Yankee fitted cap and a large black wool coat that draped down past his knees. It was baggy around the arms so his new right hand fit perfectly in place.
"Alright, computer. Let's get breakfast and see what we can salvage huh?" He called out, fitting the .38 and the cylinder strap along the inside of his coat, preparing to head upstairs.
"Thank ya, Jesus!" The walls yelled back at him as he left to start the day.
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