Runner

Runner
I run.

The machines buzz like circular saws overhead, searching, waiting to kill. Searching for me. Waiting to kill me. I know they’ll do it too. That’s what they’re programmed to do—hunt and kill. And they do a damn good job of it too.

And still I run. My legs burn—they feel like they’ve been soaking in a vat of hot, orange coals. My chest gets tight—the cold night air burns its way down my windpipe. My mouth is dry. My sweat turns to a thick cool gel against my skin. I am cold. I’m thirsty. I’m tired. And still I run. That’s all I’m programmed to do. And I did a damn good job of it too.

I’m not human. I look and feel soft like a human. Blood flows through my veins and my bones are filled with soft honeycomb marrow. But I’m not human. I’m an Olympic athlete, selectively bred by a cold harsh government. They taught me to run. Nothing more. And still I run—cold, thirsty, tired, and most of all, lonely.

I dashed behind some metal fan boxes atop a roof. I tried to silence my panting—the damn nanobots have ears. They can smell my sweat, feel my skin’s heat radiate with their damn infrared sensors. But I can’t see them; they’re silent macromolecular killers—small to escape sight, but big enough to piss off a sugar molecule. They hunted. I waited, panting, dead tired.

“Never stop running.” That dumb militaristic bitch of a “coach” would say. She was so broad that she scared most professional linebackers. She was a waste of a good pair of boobs and a cute ass. “The State, the People, depend on you. If we, the People of America, are not on top, we will be seen as weak and our enemies are just waiting to rape a weak young nation—just waiting to fuck the hell out of our young 400 year old ass.”

She licked her lips with her snakish tongue. “You lose, you die. You stop running, you die.”

The guys had blank looks on their faces. Some guys got melted by a billion little nanobots even before the races started. They couldn’t make the cut.

“This is why your mommies spat you out from ‘tween her legs from that hole of hers. To serve your country. To win. To run. You are runners. Nothing more.”

That was about ten years ago. I was like 18; I had been running since I’d been three. And I still am.

The cold surged through my chest. The chill forced me to shiver and shake. I have to keep moving. I felt those little electric eyes glaring at me, swooping in for the kill. And still I run.

And I still jump from building to building, jerking my invisible competitors as best as I can. But unlike the others, I can’t win against them. Nor do I want to. I just run because I can. Because that’s all I can do. Because I have to.

All their eyes were drinking me like a cup. Cheers rattled the walls of the stadium. A faceless blob made of thousands all cheering and all million eyes of the blob were on me—magnetically attracted. I still wore my red-white-blue synthetic nano-tights; my arrogant eyes hidden under a thick yellow photochromatic visor—to keep the sunlight out and that boastful look in. I waved at them, blowing them kisses. I could swear I remember each and every one of their faces.

The President of the United States waved to the crowd. They cheered, but not for him. It was my name they were chanting. He grabbed and shook my hand resolutely and bowed. He bowed to me. The President went up to the podium and cleared his throat. The cheers died and became mute.

“The man here before us now has impressed the nation and the world with his great athletic prowess on the field. This man is a hero, standing tall for the ideals of our fine nation, a nation of the free. He demonstrated to our enemies our great strength; instilled in them a respect for our great power, on and off the athletic field. For this, we award you this medal of valor and service. Congratulations, son, you’ve made your country proud.”

He placed the velvet, silky necklace over my head and round my neck. The silverish metal star hung on my chest, shining brightly and blindingly in the hot, summer afternoon sun. I bolted my hands up in the air and grinned. The crowds roared again like a cranky animal.

I saw my coach eyeing me, watching me like a lion watches an antelope. She didn’t cheer or clap or cry. She just watched, expressionless and stony. I’ll never forget that look. Even now, as I run, I’m still nagged by that face.

I was now running past the city’s nano-electrical router. And now I realized I didn’t have to run anymore. I stood. Within seconds, I saw a thin gray cloud materialize before my eyes. It hummed gently like a swarm of bees, ready to sting. These were the final seconds, usually; the last things people see or hear before they turn into nothing more than water vapor and free radicals and ash. The cloud hummed, steadily approaching me.

I ripped out a wire from the router. The insulated metal sparked and shined a heavy blue at its tips, surging with megawatts upon megawatts of pure electrical power. I heaved the livewire into the cloud.

A zap and crackle and sizzle ripped through the stale cool air, filling it with a thick, sulfurous smoke. Thousands of little bots fumbled and plummeted to the ground. Very few ever outwit the bots. Like this one guy I knew on the team. I remember he had slowed down too much one day during practice. The head, the bitch with the man’s face and the model’s boobs, sent the bots after him. In seconds, the humming gray cloud of tiny doom-bringers covered him. The heat waves rose from the little monsters’ invisible heat rays; the heat rays bathing the poor guy’s body. His skin melted and his bone crackled and his blood boiled. All this expressed in a single shrill scream. His body was no more than a thin wisp of white smoke and some black ash.

And the woman just watched—her face never changed. But I could’ve sworn I saw her repress a smile.

There I was—standing before a giant building, a cold metallic building without a face. The letters DOAR were sprawled across its visage in giant bold red letters. It was the Department of Athletics and Recreation—my old boss.

I trudged into the faceless building. The blonde cute receptionist jumped up in her chair, almost dropping the phone in her hand. She gasped. She had seen a ghost. My body was still wet with icy cold sweat. “Where’s she?” She knew who ‘she’ was. “Still on the 13th floor?” The girl nodded, saying nothing, not even looking me in the face.

I took the lift up and found her office. The name was written in real gold letters on the plasti-wood door. I sprang the door open and shoved myself in. The office was dark and smelled damp. I saw that it’d started raining outside; the little water drops smashed and broke on the glass, making a ‘ping’ every time the glass and water touched. She was standing by the window, looking out. “So you’ve come to kill me?”

“I have.”

“I’m impressed you made it this far. You couldn’t even get a silver last night.”

“Should I be offended?”

She swung around on her heel to face me. “Should be dead. You’re a failed design. A mistake.”

“I’m only human.”

“You’re an athlete. You were bred to run, nothing more. And your offspring from your concubines as well. Bred to run. That is all. You can no longer run. You cannot do your function anymore. Therefore, you and your offspring must be terminated.”

“Stay the hell away from my kids, you merciless bitch!”

“They’re property of the State. They’ve already been terminated.”

“Goddamn bitch. This is sick. Mark my words: you won’t make it out of here alive.”

“And then what? You have no life. Your gene pool has been wiped clean. You’re no longer a citizen here—you’re committing treason just by breathing. You kill me and you’ll be a murderer too. A terrorist. Not that it matters, you no longer exist.”

“Fuck you.”

She smiled. “You’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

She whipped a small ultraviolet pistol from jacket’s insides. “Goodbye.”

She fired. I felt the heat of the blast rush past my ear, singeing it. I felt the hair on my sides crisp and wither and burn. She missed. She failed.

I jabbed her in that ugly man face of hers. The gun flung from her hand and slammed onto the plasti-wood floor. “You missed, bitch. Who’s the failure now?”

I spat in her face and threw her body out the window. A sharp shard of glass dug into throat. Blood splashed upon the floor. She fell. She didn’t even scream.

I turned around and picked up the gun. Treason and murder are punishable by death. I put the gun to my temple. As soon as I pull that trigger, my skull will be no more. There won’t even be a trace of it…anywhere. I didn’t hesitate. My finger didn’t jitter. I was a hero once. The State rewards heroes. I’ve received my reward. I am now a criminal. The State punishes criminals. I must now receive my punishment.

I pulled the trigger. I stopped running.