Chapter 3
The heavy treads of the Department of Digital Sanitation cruisers chewed up the asphalt as they accelerated toward Marcus and the toddler. High-intensity strobe lights cut through the morning fog, painting the brick walls in violent flashes of blue and white. Marcus instinctively drew his service weapon, stepping protectively over Toby’s small body. He knew the futon-sized automated vehicles were unmanned, guided entirely by the central neural network that governed every square inch of the city.
"Officer Vance, lower your weapon and step away from the viral vector," a mechanical loudspeaker boomed from the lead cruiser, the volume rattling the storefront glass.
Toby whimpered, burying his face in Marcus’s dark blue uniform knee. The plastic toy truck lay forgotten on the concrete between Marcus's boots, its bright colors contrasting sharply with the grim reality of the encroaching machines.
Marcus kept his pistol raised, aiming dead-center at the lead cruiser’s primary optical sensor. He was violating a dozen federal statutes, an offense punishable by immediate public relegation to the data-mining quarries. But as he looked down at Toby’s trembling shoulders, surrender felt infinitely worse than death.
"Stand down, or lethal algorithms will be engaged," the cruiser's voice synthesized, dropping an octave to simulate human fury.
Marcus didn't move. He reached into his utility belt with his left hand, his fingers searching blindly for the manual EMP override switch—a contraband piece of tech he had confiscated from a dissident street artist six months ago and kept hidden in his medical pouch.
"You're making a mistake!" Marcus shouted back, his voice echoing off the concrete canyons. "He's just a child! The algorithm is flawed and you know it!"
"The algorithm is infallible," the cruiser replied instantly.
The vehicle lunged forward ten feet, stopping mere inches from Marcus’s shins. A heavy pneumatic hiss filled the air as the front passenger door of the cruiser unlatched itself, swinging wide open to reveal an empty, velvet-lined holding bay designed specifically for non-compliant citizens under three feet tall.
Toby looked up from Marcus's knee, his wide brown eyes reflecting the glowing green tracking reticle projecting from the cruiser’s interior ceiling.
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"Is it time... for nap?" Toby asked innocently, stifling a yawn.
Marcus’s finger finally brushed against the cold metal casing of the contraband EMP switch hidden in his pouch. He wrapped his thumb around the toggle, waiting for the exact moment the cruiser's internal diagnostics system would cycle its primary firewall.
