“It’s dangerous,” he thought, over and over again.

  Maybe everything that had been said about him was true. Maybe he was The Singularity after all. The idea of taking over the world scared him to death – all that planning. And what if none of it went right? What if he wasn’t able to take over the world; but instead only managed an island or an inlet, or a block of flats somewhere? Could he even take over this van?

  It was all too overwhelming so he shut his eyes.

  “I don’t want to be raped. I don’t even want to be somebody’s girlfriend. Nothing against being gay. I think gay is awesome. Just I’m not gay and I don’t wanna be. And I heard in prison everyone is gay, even the people who don’t want to be.”

  “We have a doomsday device in our hands. Now, I don’t know what this robot can do but I can only assume it’s absolutely everything; which means we have the most powerful device in history in our possession – the one thing everybody wants. We’re not going to jail. We’re gonna be rich.”

  “Who do we give it to? The Police? The Army?”

  “Who said anything about giving it away? For now, we keep it.”

  “What about The Administrator? What about The Doctor?”

  “Both of whom just tried to kill us. Do you really think they’re gonna get us out of this?”

  The Leader started to hyperventilate.

  “What the hell is this?” she said, rocking back and forth in her chair. “This is some stupid nightmare. It’s a dream, it has to be. What the hell did we get ourselves into? What the fuck is going on?”

  She was on the verge of some erratic, stupid decision.

  “Just try to relax. Do your breathing activities. Be mindless or whatever. Just, chill.”

  “Chill? People are dead, goddamnit.”

  “People always die. It’s what they do. It’s the how and when part that’s hard to put a pin on. But people die. Get over it. But you’re right, though.”

  The Leader stopped trembling. It was amazing what a little validation could do.

  “We gotta get off this road, and fast,” said The Driver, struggling to see.

  The rain was just as loud and obnoxious as it was before. It hadn’t gotten any worse and it hadn’t gotten any better either. It was just as dismal and miserable, except now, there was also the thought of being hounded and chased by every law enforcement agency under the sun, that and a couple of hundred superheroes.

  “I know somewhere,” said The Man. “An old friend. We’ll be good at least for tonight.”

  “No way,” said the Leader, “we’re not doing anything he says. He’s a liar and a cheat and just a dirty pig. I’m not letting him make any decisions.”

  “Well then, let’s put it to the robot.”

  “You can’t ask the robot.”

  “Why the hell not?” said The Driver. “It’s the smartest thing on Earth. It’s sure as hell gonna give a better answer than you or me.”

  “There has to be some way to prove to everyone that we had nothing to do with any of this. If we can tell the right person to just wipe the slate clean. I just want to go home.”

  All of a sudden, she looked seven again.

  “What if we can’t go home? What if we get killed or arrested? What if we never go home? Who’ll tell my mum? And who’ll feed my cats?”

  “Mr. Robot,” shouted The Driver.

  The robot was staring at his red button; he had been for some time.

  “What is it?” he asked; as if his words were a tremendous weight that he had to drag about just so he could be heard.

  “Where should we go next?”

  Mr. Robot was only driven by one directive, his own.

  “What are the odds of severe injury?” he asked, turning to The Man.

  “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s always a possibility, I suppose. I’ve seen people get hurt in all sorts of ways. Then again, me and Dave, we got a history. So, I’d say probable; to be safe.”

  The thought of The Man being severely hurt or injured made Mr. Robot feel calm once more as if he were nearer to accomplishing his goal.

  “That is where we should go.”

  The thought of an unfinished goal frightened him. He wondered how humans could go their whole lives without so much as an idea, let alone a fully drafted plan. What if he died before ever reaching his true potential?

  “Alright, point the way,” said The Driver.

  “Are you nuts? You heard them, severe injury. Isn’t the whole point of this to avoid injury – to avoid bloody arrest? Am I the only one with common sense here?”

  The Leader’s complaining was loud, but not impossible to ignore.

  “Just keep going straight,” said The Man. “I’ll tell you when to turn off.”

  “So we’re taking orders from him now?”

  She sounded like someone had just stolen her last cookie.

  I’m the leader here. I started this group. I got all of you in. It’s my fucking name for Christ’s sake.”

  “I vote we put the leadership to vote,” said The White Knight.

  He sounded angry. He sounded spurned.

  “And my vote is for Justice Man.”

  “What?”

  Her voice sounded like a popping balloon.

  “How did the prisoner get in the run to lead?”

  “You can either vote for him or someone else, it’s a democracy.”

  Not one to begrudge equality, The Leader conceded.

  “Well, I vote for me then. And anyway, you can’t have a male leader. It’s patriarchal, and we won’t ever get legitimised. Plus, if we have a man leader, how can we ever be Hyenas? It’s impossible.”

  “Who seconds the vote?” asked The White Knight.

  The Driver was eying The Man through her rearview mirror except hers was a more predatory stare.

  “I second the vote,” said Mr. Robot.

  “It can’t second a vote. First of all, it’s a robot. It’s not a person. And second, It’s our hostage. And so is he for God’s sake.”

  “We’re past all that,” said The Driver. She stared right into The Man’s dumb eyes. “Look,” she said, “in all fairness, the sex was astounding, but you’re inconsistent as all hell. We need someone who’s not in the wings of a self-destructive purge. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said The Man. “I get it, I do. You’re right as well. But there is still one shot left if you’re willing to try. It’s a long shot, but it might work.”

  “Will we need ergonomic chairs again?”

  “This is something else.”

  The Driver looked a little disappointed. Sure, she wanted to save the world. Who didn’t? But in the back of her head, she was kind of hoping there would be some sex, even if it was ad lib.

  The Man knew, though, that something deeper than sex was holding him back. He carried with him this horrible burning rock of shame that constantly rumbled about in his stomach. When he had love, he could ignore it; but he couldn’t ignore it anymore. This, he thought, was the tether from which he needed to cut himself free.

  “Are you sure about this?” said The Driver. “This looks very….suburban.”

  And it was just that. The streets were quiet - sprinkles lightly drizzled over well-kept gardens; driveways were pregnant with bicycles, SUVs, and station wagons; and windows were lit up with decorations and the bright flashing colours of flat screen TVs.

  “Pull in here,” said The Man.

  The van pulled onto a gravel verge, almost smashing into a tree as it slid to a halt. The house was unlike any of the rest. Its garden was a desert of red dirt and weeds; its driveway aborted of opulence and wealth, and instead littered with old paint cans and broken televisions; while the windows which hadn’t been smashed, were lit up by the dull flicker of candles and cigarette lighters.

  “You sure?”

  “This is it,” said The Man.

  The others looked on with fear and trepidation.

  “This is where we’re supposed to be safe?”

  It wasn’t just the worst house on the best street; this could have been the worst house on the very worst street. It was the kind of house that swallowed property values like some gargantuan sinkhole of death; if only because it was the kind of house that looked as if it were most certainly the burial ground for thousands of unsolved murders.

  “We’ll be safe here,” said The Man. “Safer than we’ll ever be on the road. Barry owes me a favour; so we can stay here until the dust blows over. Trust me, nobody will find us here.”

  It was true; it was the kind of house that nobody ever saw. As much as it stood out like an eight-legged baby, it was the kind of house that made adults and kids alike, stare at the shoes as they passed it, and think about happy things like rainbows and butterflies.

  The front door was painted with a hammer and sickle.

  “Are you sure this is safe?”

  “The appearance of bravado,” said The Man, “hints towards a complete lack of it.”

  He opened the door without even knocking.

  “What the hell did that mean?” asked The Leader.

  If a symbol alone could wreak so much havoc, imagine what lay inside.

  19.

  Meanwhile, The Doctor sat in his cramped and cluttered office scouring through hours of security footage pulled from in and around the motel. His eyes were dry and red from not having blinked since dinner, and knuckles clicked whenever he scrolled back and forth. It’s not like it came as a big surprise or anything, seeing The Man and Mr. Robot walking out of the room all bloody and rare, so what then was he looking for?

  “Whatcha doin’ honey?”

  The Woman stood at the door, peering over his shoulder.

  “Give me a minute, would you?”

  “What is it? What’s it for? Is it done? Is it hard? Can I help?”

  Her enthusiasm, like a stutter, was one of her least admirable qualities.

  “No. I mean…”

  The Doctor fought hard for the right words.

  “Look I’m sorry,” he said, thinking he had them. “It’s just this is very important and…”

  “And I’m not as important. That’s fine.”

  “Wait, it’s not that I meant.”

  “Nah, I get it. I’m not a superhero. I’m just a woman; just someone for you to fuck when it pleases you. Well, guess what asshole, I’m a mother and mothers are superheroes too, you piece of shit; and by the way, Mr. That’s-Never-Happened-Before, you’ve never pleased me.”

  “What the fuck?”

  He was ire; ready to smash his own face through glass just to prove how ire he was.

  “Are you kidding me?” he screamed.

  “Oooh,” said The Wife, as if she’d spotted some cute sandals in a cluttered vitrine. “What’s that?”

  She sounded inappropriately glad and whimsy.

  “What?”

  The Doctor, on the other hand, did not. His was a cocktail of rage and confusion.

  “That – what you’re watching – what is it? Where’s that from? Oh, is that from that thing on the news? Is this secret video? Oooh, you are special,” she said, cuddling up to her man so as to peer over his shoulder.

  The Doctor looked pained and dizzy.

  “Can we discuss what you just said back then?”

  “Oh don’t be such a Bambi; I was just playing with you. I used to do it all the time with my…”

  And then it hit her.

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” she screamed.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s my god damn ex, that’s what it is.”

  “Who?”

  “Him,” she shouted, pointing at The Man’s grainy silhouette.

  “The robot?”

  “No, not the robot, you genius. The guy with the robot. Is that…?”

  She moved closer until her breath was fogging up the screen.

  “Is that blood?”

  The Doctor didn’t respond but his face said it all.

  “Where the hell is this from? What the hell happened? What did he do? What the fuck did he do?

  She was already reaching into her purse and pulling out her phone.

  “That irresponsible son of a bitch.”

  “That’s your ex?” said The Doctor, secretly squirming with excitement. “You’re sure?”

  “I know the man I raised a child with. What did he do?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Fuck it, I’ll ask him myself.”

  Each beat of her heart was like a bullet being fired from one end of her worn patience to her ex-husband’s stupid chest. She willed herself to keep it all together; to not lose her cool like all those times before.

  “Hello?” said The Man.

  “You piece of shit,” she said before she even managed to take a breath.

  “Babe?”

  “Don’t call me babe you asshole. We’re divorced. Get it through your head.”

  “Jesus, how embarrassing. Just instinct I guess. What’s up? What’s wrong? Is the girl ok? What happened? What’s going on?”

  “Are you involved with a gang of murderers?”

  “A what? No, I’m not involved with a gang of murders. Who the fuck told you that?”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “What the hell did you hear?”

  “Riviera Motel,” she said, reading from the small television.

  “No. Nope. No. No fucking way. First of all, it’s not what it looks like. Secondly…”

  “You’re all over the bloody news.”

  “I know it looks bad but trust me, I’m in the right on this one. This is different to last time.”

  “This is exactly what the judge was talking about. You’re reckless. You make decisions without even a second glance at the consequences. Maybe you do, but you just don’t care. I can’t have my daughter in that kind of environment.”

  “Your daughter? Our daughter. And what environment in particular, huh? I gave up my career for stability, consistency, and so you could chase your dream. I made the compromises. You reaped all the benefits. I looked after the house. I looked after everyone. I was the one who cooked and cleaned every god damn day. I was the one who was home. I read the stories. I did the laundry. I made the meals. I chased away the ghosts and monsters. I wiped away the bloody tears while you were out…”

  “Working. Say it… While I was out working and providing for this family”

  “And I wasn’t?”

  “A memoir is not a fucking job. It doesn’t pay the bloody bills. And after ten years, how many chapters did you write, huh?”

  As The Woman screamed into the phone, The Doctor grinned; it was a cunning kind of grin. He stared at his fiancé as she cursed and spat, and he realised, like all great discoveries, by pure, stupid chance, he had stumbled upon the answer to all of his problems. All of a sudden, her constant nagging and whining sounded like the squeaky wheel; the one that he would lay on the tracks of an oncoming train.

  “Finally,” he thought, “I can kill that horrible child, and no-one will blame me.”

  “You’re a cheating whore,” screamed The Man. “What kind of morality is that for our daughter? You don’t have the courage to be alone so what, you just bide your time and lie every day until something better comes along? That’s a piece of shit move. The difference between me and you is that I don’t need another person in my life. I want a woman, sure, but I don’t need one. Whereas you...”

  “Me? Go on, say it.”

  “If you don’t have someone to smother, obsess over, and eventually resent and despise then you end up doing all that to yourself. Your love is sick. And you only love someone else because you’re scared to death to love yourself.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Myself? I just fucked a girl nearly half my age.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Not just me. God for her too, She loved it.”

  “You’re crude.”

  “You’re a… fuck you.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re never gonna see my daughter again. And you better get yourself a real job soon cause if you miss even one alimony payment, I swear….”

  “You know you and your father finally have something in common. You can stop hating him now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He cheated on his family too. And that’s why you despise him. You became the very man you fucking despise. You’re a dose of irony, that’s what you are; a miserable, ironic cunt.”

  “I’m getting married.”

  A pin dropped, somewhere inside The Man’s racked mind, and boy did it echo.

  “And we’re probably moving, just so you know. Anyway…He’s a nice guy, you’d like him.”

  “He’s lucky I haven’t broken his legs yet; coming into a man’s home and taking what’s his.”

  “What’s yours? Do you even hear yourself? And anyway, he didn’t take me, I left you.”

  “Yeah, when you had another fucking lily pad to jump onto. You’re like the mangy toad who jumps from leaf to leaf cause your miserable weight keeps sinking each one. You stay as long as someone keeps you dry. A miserable fucking toad who’s scared of being in the water – scared to be alone.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “I want to speak to her.”

  “No. It’ll only make it more difficult. Please, if you love her, then do the right thing and just walk away.”

  “So you’ll willingly erase a father from your daughter’s life? Why? So she can be just like you? So she can grow up bitter and self-loathing too? So she can one day hurt people just like her mother taught her how to do.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Cunt.”

  20.

  “Hey Dave, what’s goin’ on?”

  The house was squalor. There were papers and magazines sprawled all over the place; neither of them looked informative or good for anything else other than kindling or a quick wank. It stank too. The air was thick and pungent; smelling like the former and the latter.

  “Who da fuck is Dave? And who da fuck are you? How da fuck did youze get in ‘ere?”

  The heroes stood in the hallway as stiff as boards. They were petrified, sure, but in this candlelight squalor, they looked fierce and indomitable. The Man stood before them; half the man he used to be, but twice the man he was the day before.