“Who do you think was our best kill this year?”
Oscar didn’t respond at first. Littleform often asked this question and they always disagreed. They were fifth-generation, enhanced Attack Brothers with a skill package that would allow them to kill any species, animal, human, or otherwise.
“If you don’t stop asking that idiotic question, it’s going to be you,” Oscar answered, deeply suspicious of a cloud bank shading the Greater Antilles beach resort where they were staying.
Littleform returned to his earlier concern. Before they entered their cabana, Littleform had spotted Arnold and Casablanca, another pair of skilled assassins. “So, we’re just going to hide in our cabana and do nothing?” Littleform said to Oscar.
Rules of Engagement clearly detailed that while any pair of brothers were on vacation, or in a hospital or Starbucks, they cannot be threatened, chased, assaulted, or in any way harmed.
Oscar believed in rules.
Littleform was less of a stickler. His rationale was simple. The more kills you made, the higher your ranking in the industry. The higher your ranking, the more accolades, honors, rewards, and cool perks.
“We only got here yesterday so let’s take advantage of our crap two weeks a year,” Oscar replied.
Littleform could barely choke back his anger. “It’s Arnold and Casablanca. They’d kill us in our sleep if they had the chance.”
Oscar decided that Littleform was going to ruin the afternoon, and most likely their vacation, as long as Arnold and Casablanca were around. “So, let’s go over there and cut a deal with them.”
“Are you crazy?” Littleform said, frothing with fury.
“Sometimes, yes. But generally, while on vacation, mostly no.”
Oscar started walking over the warm Caribbean beach that he so loved. He curled his toes deep into the sand, making every step count. He had always been curious about the cult of Sandwalkers, but the soul of his skill was that, enhanced or not, he was an instinctively gifted killer.
***
“Arnold, Casablanca, great to see you guys here. Catching some rays, are you?” Oscar said, surprising the brothers, who were in the middle of a game of winner-take-all Chutes and Ladders.
They jumped to their feet, scattering the board game everywhere. The four men faced each other in penetrating silence like they were waiting for a gunfight to break out. “What are you doing here?” Casablanca asked.
“Making sure you don’t kill us in our sleep,” Littleform said.
“What about during lunch or dinner?” Casablanca asked.
“Or right here under our cabana, which I am sure is fancier then wherever shithole you two crawled out of,” Arnold said.
“You want to live out your vacation, or get cut down right here by my brother and myself?” Oscar said, closing the distance to Arnold. “We spotted you first. We could have killed you two assholes any time we wanted.”
Casablanca bridled at the insult.
“All that matters is that I love killing, and you two are marginally skilled enthusiasts,” Oscar said.
“Actually, all that really matters is that Oscar and I, you and Casablanca, shouldn’t be within two hundred miles of another killing pair.”
“Someone should contact Hirschorn,” Littleform said.
“How did we four break a Primary Protocol?” Oscar said. “Right now Hirschorn is somewhere already shitting himself.”
***
“What the fuck is going on?” Dr. Myles Hirschorn said, shocked at the blinking red images on his computer screen and drenching his console in a cascade of freshly brewed Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. “Russell?” he screamed.
***
“I’m going back to catch some rays.” Oscar nodded and pivoted away.
“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind,” Littleform added, pausing for a second longer to fire a threatening stare back at Casablanca.
By the time they both settled back into their cabana, fresh drinks were waiting. “So, while they sleep?” Littleform asked.
Oscar took a long, refreshing swig of the fruit cocktail. “I’m going upstairs and get what we need. We’re going to get this over with now.”
Oscar started for the hotel when he and Littleform collapsed facedown into the warm sand. Both their heads shook violently from side to side for a moment, then went still.
A few bathers screamed. Most assumed the two young men were overcome by drugs.
Not far away other bathers screamed as two young men collapsed, taking down their cabana.
***
“As instructed, the police are blaming it on heatstroke,” Russell Evers said, monitoring the images of turmoil on the beach from one of the country’s military spy satellites accessed by MicroAttack Industries. Calm and reserved, he was coordinating MicroAttack’s Emergency Override System. Oscar and Littleform were two of MicroAttack Industries’ newest upgrades and, at $140 million each, a bargain for many countries and political action groups.
“Excellent pickup. If you hadn’t shut them down, I would have,” Dr. Myles Hirschorn, Chief of Technology and Vice President at MicroAttack Industries, said to Evers.
Hirschorn was more concerned with getting a handle on damage control and potential media exposure this unfortunate incident might have on MicroAttack’s upcoming public offering. Perception was everything, and Myles Hirschorn prided himself on being able to control and manipulate perception to his liking.
“An ambulance already has Oscar and Littleform,” Evers said. “Arnold and Casablanca will be scooped up in another few minutes. A salvage team is nearby and will take all four to the airport. Our jet will have them back to the Reconditioning Center in Virginia in two hours. We might get flack for the fuckup, but we got to those four assholes before they got into a goddam firefight.”
“Oscar is evolving too quickly,” Hirschorn said, shaking his head in frustration and despair. These were troubling signs. “Oscar should have been taken offline and wiped clean months ago. Probably Littleform too.”
“It’s under control.”
“Not if any of our competitors or the market gets wind of what almost happened.”
“Like four giant young men in excellent health fainting from heatstroke on the same beach at the same time?” Evers said, unable to put the pieces of the puzzle back together.
Even lowly technicians at MicroAttack knew what bad press was and didn’t want to have it on their record. Hirschorn and Evers, his assistant, were high enough on the food chain to be feared. Once the four brothers were processed by Diagnostics Review, they would spend the next few days, or months clearing out the corrupted code and reinstalling the updated version that gifted Oscar and Littleform with uncommon skills.
Every department at MicroAttack cut corners and expenses to boost company profits, a year before it was announced that they were going public. Tension and anxiety filled every conference room and influenced every decision.
Every employee felt exposed. And they were.
***
Hirschorn spent hours poring over the original design and final modifications. Three years and thousands of hours in prototype development and nothing, he repeated to himself. “Not one fucking coding error.”
Utilizing the most advanced Quantum Computing, a revolutionary approach to computation that leverages the principles of quantum mechanics to solve complex problems that are intractable for classical computers, the AI Master Algorithm was a singular masterpiece capable of discovering all knowledge—past, present and future—from data.
“It could have been a lot worse,” Evers said as all four humanoids were finally secured at the Reconditioning Center where the Diagnostics process had already begun.
“What could be worse than a firefight at an exclusive Caribbean beach resort that may have included killing and wounding scores of super wealthy sunbathers?” Hirschorn scowled.
“Anders and Rudolph were supposed to kill the Laborian ambassador last month at the embassy celebration. Instead of drawing their guns and firing on cue they fucking forgot how to use their 9mm Heckler & Koch. Now that was bad press.”
Hirschorn blew off the comparison. Anders and Rudolph were older models used on minimally challenging assignments. Compared with Oscar and Littleform, both were eukaryotic organisms.
After another hour, Hirschorn settled down at the console Evers was monitoring. The beach was clear. There were no reporters, and Diagnostics was far enough along to give them constructive updates.
The real issue was why both sets of brothers were not only at the same beach at the same time but were sitting a stone’s throw away from each other. Sets of brothers almost always reacted poorly when they encountered each other. They tended to see them as common enemies. That’s why they’re never assigned to be within two hundred miles no matter the mission. And that programming algorithm and coding came out of his department.
***
Oscar’s declaration that All that matters is that I love killing, and you’re merely a marginally skilled enthusiast, haunted Hirschorn. Where the hell did that come from, he kept asking himself? It was unsettling. Something was wrong and it was embedded deep in Oscar’s programming cycle. Hirschorn’s programming cycle. The humanoids were expanding their artificial intelligence beyond the firewall of bounded code algorithms.
Oscar was the best of the newest prototypes, a highly enhanced version whose potential was lavishly described in MicroAttack’s offering statement, an advancement in killing technology that would define the industry for a generation. And Arnold and Casablanca weren’t the first pair of attack brothers to express their resentment.
It was well past ten p.m. when Hirschorn managed to get his fears under control. He went into his office and returned to Evers with a half a bottle of Jack Daniels and two water-stained shot glasses.
“We’re celebrating?” Evers asked.
“If it was on us, by this time we would have been told. Everyone would have been told.”
Evers’ body language gave away his hesitation. “Not if they wanted to contain the problem. Then only one person would have been taken down.”
Hirschorn thought about Evers’ comment. “Let’s have a drink anyway,” he said, pouring two generous helpings. “To luck.”
“To Oscar finally being taken offline before he kills someone, and to luck. May it never run out,” Evers said just before Myles Hirschorn, Chief of Technology and Vice President at MicroAttack Industries, collapsed where he stood. His head jerked quickly from side to side a few times then went still.
“Holy fuck. Who knew?” Evers said, stunned and shaking, frantically patting himself down to make sure he was still alive, then carefully stepped away from the stricken remains of Myles Hirschorn. “I guess two shots of Jack is better than one,” he said and gulped down both glasses as a team from the Reconditioning Center burst into the control room, secured and carried off his ex-boss.
[Image Credit : Photo by Ahmet Yüksek ✪ on Unsplash]
by 
Latest posts by Arthur Davis (see all)
- The Killing Brothers - August 27, 2026
- Midnight Man - February 23, 2024
- The Boy With Too Many Toes - February 9, 2021
0 Comments