The tall man, his suit stained and wet, crumbled against the bloodied wall and wept. His shorter associate's eyes stared blankly at him, his colleague's throat torn open by the nightmare that ran through the new city's halls.
Blood of the new world's dreamers, the blood of men, women an children, pooled upon the floor. The tall administrator's arm burned where a flash of steel claws had raked him. His face paled for the loss of blood. He would survive his encounter with the replicant maker's final gift to the new city, but the tall administrator of the machine doubted he would ever again dream as pleasurably or as easily as he had before the replicant maker's monster had painted the halls red with its victims' blood. Nightmare came to the new world in the shape of two glowing, red eyes.
The tall man sobbed. Suddenly, he felt very alone.
Parts of the replicant maker's monster trailed like breadcrumbs down the hallway. Busted gears in the corner and fragments of synthetic bone marked the locations where the new city's inexperienced militia had leveled their guns and rockets upon the black and gray tiger. The replicant maker had built his beast to be sturdy and strong, and his monster would demand many hurts before finally closing its set of awful, red eyes. Many of those who had fought the beast had given their lives for the effort.
The tall administrator looked upon the carnage and wept.
The tiger had shown mercy to none. The replicant maker had not programmed his final creation to distinguish one target from another. He had only told those red eyes to kill all they fell upon. The dead crowded the halls. Silent bodies stared open-eyed where they fell.
The fallen children were most horrific. The administrator regarded their death as the replicant maker's awful betrayal. Had it not been the children who comforted Mr. Hightower? Had it not been the children who applauded Mr. Hightower's mechanical animals? The administrator could not understand how Mr. Hightower could be so envious as to kill the children rather than see them experience the joys of the machine's dreams.
A fellow administrator of another dark suit turned the hall's corner surrounded by a team of armored and armed militia.
“We have destroyed the beast,” the administrator spoke. “I am sorry for your hurt. We will get you back to the machine as quickly as we can. The monster was horrible, but the machine will comfort you.”
The tall administrator frowned. “The machine will give little comfort anymore.”
The associate sighed. His escort removed the dead from the hall's center. “We'll have to introduce another set of modifications. But our technicians are capable. It was not so long ago when the machine could not even accept the childrens' minds. In the end, the machine will be stronger.”
“I don't believe so anymore.” The taller administrator's arm throbbed with pain.
“Be patient,” his colleague replied. “You have looked upon the beast. You'll need time to recover from the shock. You'll need a little time to rediscover the dream.”
The administrator said nothing more as the militia tended to his hurt arm. He said nothing else as they carried him away upon a litter. He lacked the strength to explain. His blood no longer possessed the passion to argue with the zealous faithful.
Yet the tall administrator realized how much wild Nigel Hightower had introduced to the machine. He knew what the replicant maker, once so cherished by all the children, had given to the new world. The tall administrator no longer had faith that a world built upon wisps of dreams could survive.
Nightmare stalked the dull, white and plastic halls, and the administrator knew no one could ever again afford to ignore that which lurked outside of their minds.