6A man reached for the micro-remote as he sat on his leather chair, a controller no larger than the human thumb, a began flipping through thousands and thousands of crystal-clear satellite channels; but why would it matter, all of the channels contained polemic after polemic of politics or international news or local news, all constructed to keep the public informed of world events. But what world events? The news was all the same, be it foreign troubles or local events and politics were endless speeches of people of falling countries frantically running for World Leader.
People walked the dark streets of Los Angeles, the skies darkened with endless clouds of black smog. Fifty-foot TVs spanned along hundreds of metropolitan skyscrapers covered in flashing neon lights advertising random products: drinks, foods, cars. ".A plane crash occurred in Ontario. The plane plummeted into a local airport. Hundreds dead, thousands injured." It was more like ten dead and hundreds injured. Massive hover-cars sped down the air-highways at two hundred miles an hour, zooming by the hundreds of neon-covered skyscrapers. ".This is Clayton Emory reporting off for tonight. Stay-tuned next for local news around the L.A. area."
Clayton Emory stepped out of the hundred story building, a colossal neon sign in greens and blue flashed behind him. He stepped onto the curb, holding out his hand for a taxi. He stood there for many moments, watching the swarm of the homeless as they wandered the streets like flies form a cloud over a carcass. Time froze in that second and all he could see was the swarm of people, wandering the streets in tattered coats and denims. And Clayton comprehended how lucky he was to have all the money he did.
"Are you getting in or not?" A mechanical voice interrupted his spur- of-the-moment revelation. He turned to face a chrome automaton, with his emaciated hand stretched out. "Money." He reached for his pocket, and pulled out enough for the trip back to his apartment, and sat in the back.
The taxi hovered along, through the masses of air-traffic and skyscrapers. It seemed he was in the car for hours, although he was only in the hover-taxi for about five minutes. Clayton glared as his apartment as the hover-taxi lowered on the fractured streets of downtown L.A. "Thank you," The automaton stated in a mechanical voice as he turned his head toward the anchorman, "I hope you enjoyed your trip."
As he stepped out of the hover-taxi, he pulled his leather jacket over his head, as rain started to fall. So, he rushed inside the building, soaking his black pants in the torrents of rain. The security camera turned toward him, and the bullet-proof doors slid open. He walked slowly into the elevator, and he hit the buttons for his floor. In an instant, the doors were open, and he was walking down the hall. All the security cameras were turned toward him and followed him as he walked down the bleak gray hallway. The metal door of his room came quickly, and he placed his hand on the heat sensitive lock. A female voice replied from speakers above the steel door, "Welcome home, Clayton Emory," the metal door slid open, "your wife and kids are home. Do you wish to turn on the security controls?"
"Set in on minor alert, computer, I'll set it higher before 11:00." Clayton sat on the single leather chair and flipped on the TV. "Very well, Mr. Emory." the voice went off, but he could hear it in the kitchen where his family was eating.
".And now for local news." another anchorman sat at the metallic table behind myriads of screens to keep the anchormen up with current events. Of course they were the real current events, unedited by the reporters. The anchormen just changed it to keep society "happy", or make them more upset than they need to. ".Another shooting occurred on West Avenue. Three dead, four injured. There are no known suspects. Everyone in this area should set there security to high alert."
"Computer!" Clayton called, turning off the TV.
"Yes, Mr. Emory."
"Set the security to high alert, and laser the doors and windows."
"Yes, Mr. Emory. High security alert shall be set in two minutes. Lasers on." Bright red lasers interlaced along the windows of the apartment, and Clayton walked into the kitchen and sat down at the small, metal table.
"Your late Clayton," his wife put an empty plate in front of him, and then put a slab of meat on it.
"I'm sorry. I really am. I just got held up." He cut the meat with a blunt knife. He looked at his seven-year-old son, "How was your day at school?"
"Okay. We started long division in math, and learned about robotics in science-tomorrow we'll be building one. In language arts we learned about verbs and read Jabberwocky by Lewis somebody." He went on and on, as Clayton ate through his dinner.
The man in gold and silver came bursting through the apartment. He held a fully charged plasma cannon aimed at the door. Armies of automatons came to the glass door; they were fully equipped arsenals, loaded with every weapon available to the public. "Freeze, Callahan Moore! You are wanted by state and federal law for releasing classified information to the public eye! You are wanted by state law for running down three L.A.P.D. officers. If you do not surrender, we will open fire. A MESSAGE TO ALL: ANY CIVILIANS IN AREA PLEASE EVACUATE! YOU WILL BE HARMED OR KILLED IF YOU DO NOT EVACUATE!"
The man known as Callahan fired the plasma cannon at the closest automaton. "You'll never take me alive! The truth must be known! All anchormen must know the truth. He flipped up a table for cover and fired away.
Clayton heard the shots from underneath. Although they were ten floors above the foyer of the apartment, plasma cannons were awfully loud, and could be heard. Silently, he walked along the steel floor and turned on the TV. ".We're here with breaking news. Earlier tonight, Callahan Moore was hunted down for acts against the state." At that second, there was pounding at the door. "Lemme in! Clayton help me."
"Computer!" Clayton called, turning off the TV.
"Yes, Mr. Emory?"
"Open the door."
"But, Mr. Emory, the security system."
"OPEN THE DANG DOOR!"
"Yes, Mr. Emory. Door open." Callahan ran in, falling to his knees.
"Shut the door computer."
"It is jammed. Should I try to fix the jam?"
"Yes. Callahan, throw me your plasma cannon. Computer, sound-proof the room, I don't want wife to know about this."
" .ton. I. was. hoping not to. see. you like this. Why did you help me.?" He was exhausted.
"Because I want to know the truth."
"The truth? Emory, the truth. The truth is in the media. It is all lies! A scheme to keep the. people happy! Take this paper; it. is tomorrow's broadcast. When. you go on, state. the real way."
"Why must the truth be known?"
"Look at. the people on the streets. That is. 95 percent of the population. They are the ones. .They are blames everything on. But the truth is, it's the government. It's all a cover for the government. so the people. won't think they're doing a bad job. If the people. find out it's the government. they'll rebel. and the world will be a happy." Callahan fell on the floor, fatigued and beleaguered.
And at that moment, the automatons came marching in, glowing with rage. Many were damaged, sparking from plasma shots. One of the automatons came clanking over, walking slowly. It came to Clayton, pointing his weapon- hands toward Callahan sprawled on the floor. The automaton's eyes glowed red, and it dragged Callahan out of the room.
As Callahan was being dragged out, he opened his eyes and mouthed an unreadable phrase. But Clayton could do nothing, and the metal door slammed shut... Why had the automatons left him alone?
Clayton walked into the studio, and sat down on his metal desk. The screens turned on. "Today on the news: Callahan Moore was hunted by the LAPDs knew automaton SWAT team." He continued on the story, speaking anything but monotone. He spoke with enthusiasm and excitement. ".Before he died, he passed on some information I feel the media should know..."
The people of the streets watched the broadcast, whether they were homeless or rich. They stood stunned, for Clayton's proof and words were so believable. But this was an act against the state, and the government of Los Angeles stood in disgust, so the mayor picked up the telecomm device. "This is the mayor. Send out the automatons, and set them to attack Clayton Emory."
Clayton Emory continued his story. ".It is all acts of the government that the country is at its current standards. The country went from a world power to a world controller, as it took out all competing countries. And now, everyone hates us, and we hate ourselves. Next is international news- if anybody cares."
As he walked out, people of the building stopped him. "They're going to send the automatons on you. The same thing's gonna happen to you that happened to Callahan," he heard from a co-worker. Emory snapped back, "Then there's only one place I can go."
He ran outside the building, calling a taxi. There was a rush of cars, but no taxi came by. But then he knew why: he was an enemy of the state. Automatons were needed to bring him down. And the automatons were coming, as he heard marching, and he could see the yellow eyes through the mist. He started running, but what would that do? He passed one block, and another, but he could still hear the marching, and he could still see the yellow eyes. He still ran, only to see more yellow eyes marching to him. Rear. Front. All sides. He was surrounded from all sides, all sides but a building, a dilapidated office building. But he took his chance.
The floor was damp from a water leak, and the wood was rotten, but it was a shelter. He could hear the automatons marching closer to his location. He looked around the building and headed for the stairs, climbing them. He was lucky they didn't break. Marching. Still marching below him. He walked slowly, seeing the ruined building. He saw the ruined desks, and chairs, all rotted. He saw things of the past-the good life.
"Clayton Emory!" He turned around, facing the yellow eyes of the top automaton. He stepped back, picking up a piece of wood. The automaton raised his weapon-hands and his eyes turned red. Clayton waved the wood board recklessly, but the automaton's steel hand broke it.
Clayton turned around and ran toward a door, leading him to the fire escape outside. He climbed the rusted ladder up on the roof. "You can't run Clayton! A MESSAGE TO ALL: ANY CIVILIANS IN AREA PLEASE EVACUATE! YOU WILL BE HARMED OR KILLED IF YOU DO NOT EVACUATE!" The automaton fired with his weapon, missing by an inch.
Clayton had reached the roof! He stood on the roof, staring at the neon lights of the city. He looked at the homeless, watching the thrill from the streets. And he knew his family was watching on the TV. He walked to the edge.
"It's over Emory."
"No. It's just beginning." He stepped off, plummeting to the ground below.