"JESUS!" the floor yelled at him. Carlo was looking around at the remnants of his home with a somberness he hadn’t expected. He really had nothing left. “At least if I die I won’t be leaving behind much,” he muttered.
"Oh take me lord!" The floor cried again. The loft apartment Carlo once resided in was now a pile of rubble. Surrounded by shattered wood, plaster, and brick, he stood on broken glass that crunched with every step. The nauseating smell of burnt furniture put out by rainwater left a particular scummy feel to the room. But he was most aware of the love seat he kept near the window outside his lab where his gaming station used to be. The tiny sofa had been melted down the middle by an energy blast. Ironically into the shape of a heart. Much of the smell came from there.
“The audacity of the universe...Oh, even the 3d printer didn’t make it...that was my favorite'' he groaned, continuing looking around at the remains of his home. A chill morning breeze tickled his neck, reminding him of the gaping hole that now made up 40% of the apartment. He walked over to the open wound and looked down from what would have been the second floor. The sidewalk below had been cleaned of debris without a soul in sight. Carlo wondered if that was a good sign or not.
When he first moved in, he was told he would have all the privacy he could handle which was true enough. His block and the two surrounding it in particular, were designated ‘no go’ areas for most of the city's law enforcement and municipal services. Garbage would pile for weeks outside, roads stayed fractured, and fires would be dealt with at the cinders. Police presence or hero involvement were also not seen as a necessity. The exception being young caped crusaders entering the slums to get some experience in crime-fighting.
The residents who lived in the neighborhood were not regular citizens. They couldn’t be. They lived in low-income housing barely above the city standards that operated like micro towns, with their own set of rules and politics. Crime was not a societal ill, it kept them fed. These were not bad people. If you met them, you'd even argue these were the best people. But goodness is an ideal, many of us are able to embrace due to circumstance. These people did not have that. But as they said in these parts “it is what it is.” Carlo was of this ilk. It’s why he did not mind living there, he felt a sense of calm in the home of the wicked. Even if who owned it was the worst of them all.
He looked down by his foot to see the remains of one of his androids. Its limbs had been cooked into a metallic paste that had welded to the floor. Its head was facing him making uncomfortable eye contact.
"Monte Carlo mark 1. Oh, how I miss how simple you were. Even if you were...less aesthetic.”
"God don't love ugly," the computer shouted from the floor.
"And yet, I'm still Catholic," he said, picking up the head, staring deep into its hollowed crooked eye, smiling to himself. "For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man- God I hope so.”
He looked around one last time then placed the head down with the rest of its body. “Computer, run diagnostics on what was transferred to the basement servers.” He reached into his coat pocket, placed a small air bud into his left ear, and pulled out his phone. Static filled his ear before a counter appeared on his right eyeglass lens. It was counter going down from the remaining time he had left in town. It was just under twenty hours. On the left, a message appeared that read “diagnostic check, thirty minutes runtime.”
"Ok. Optimal. I’m going offline. I’ll be back with my breakfast before then," he said. He exited through the large hole and was hit with a gust of wind when his feet touched the sidewalk.
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