beat-up excuse for a motor vehicle couldn’t possibly get around a curve like that!”
“Try again tomorrow,” repeated the instructor. “You did not--”
He didn’t finish his sentence, because his jaw was suddenly disconnected from the rest of his body. He fell to the ground, and Dwayne fell on him, striking the robotic instructor again and again with the hammer.
The response was quick. He hadn’t even gotten his fifth blow in when powerful arms wrapped around him. Large, uniformed guards grabbed him by the waist, the arms, and his legs. He was dragged kicking and screaming through the gate that led to the front of the building.
He was greeted by a wave of them. Shoulder to shoulder, filling the street, blocking the road, stood a huge throng of civil servants who had unanimously decided that if there was one thing they hated more than being confined to the most dull and tedious tasks mankind could possibly think for them to do, it was repeatedly being mashed to bits by someone who simply couldn’t tolerate the status quo.
Dwayne managed to wrench himself away. He reached into his leather jacket, and swung his weapon at the nearest civil servant. It connected, and he whirled around, striking the next one with all the force he could muster.
There were too many of them. They flanked him, they grabbed him from behind, they restrained him from the front. He felt a cold, damp cloth on his mouth, and soon the edges of his vision began to darken.
* * *
The jail cell was cold, if it could be called a jail cell. There was a cot, a hole for relieving himself, and a tiny window through which hardly any light poured through. There was no sound of activity coming from outside.
Dwayne's jacket was off, and his book was gone. Blood was trickling from his lip, and he could feel a pounding near his eye: a bruise in the making. He was alone with his thoughts.
He considered that his past experiences of the last few days might be a dream, but dreams, from his experience, did not end with waking up in a dark, stuffy holding cell. He ran a list through his head of many escape scenarios, but did not get a chance to execute a single one, because he heard footsteps outside his door.
The door groaned a tortured, drawn-out note, and Dwayne came face to face with a silhouette that somehow looked familiar.
“Oh Dwayne,” it said. “You were such a lovely soul when first we met.”
It took Dwayne a moment to realize that he was talking to the Mad Scientist. “Is that so?” he replied.
“Oh yes. But you’re not going to do much good to us locked up in this cell, are you?”
Dwayne was escorted into a deserted hall, the end of which housed a completely plain door. This place was clearly no ordinary prison, as there was not a single other cell door in sight.
The Mad Scientist opened the door and went outside, ushered Dwayne into the passenger seat of a plain white sedan, and took the driver's seat. “You’ve helped us out so much, Dwayne,” he said.
“How so?” asked Dwayne.
“Well, we know that doing those boring civil jobs often leads to mental instability years later. But now we know that watching someone else do it, a robot, no less, makes you lose it right off the bat!”
“Hey!” said Dwayne. “I’m not crazy! I just didn’t want to deal with them anymore!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Dwayne,” said the Mad Scientist. “You’re not in trouble. You’ve helped us discover what the problem is, and now you’re going to help us fix it.”
“How?”
“Well, you’re going to be working for us, of course,” said the Mad Scientist.
“Working for you? But I’ve destroyed... I don’t even know how many of your... civil servants.”
“Oh it was to be expected that someone would find out.”
“Find out? You told me!”
“Did I?” said the Mad Scientist. “Oh, that's right.”
“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” said Dwayne, as his confession came pouring through. “I didn’t want those... machines controlling my life. I wanted to take charge of my own actions.”
“And you did, you did,” said the Mad Scientist, grinning in his usual, maddening way. “And now you’re going to work for us. If you can’t participate in society, the least you can do is help us run it.” His smile widened, and Dwayne suddenly found himself very, very nervous. “I’m afraid there’s a bit of a process you have to go through before you can work for us, though.”
“Yes, and what would that be?” asked Dwayne. He tried the door of the moving car. Just as he suspected, it was locked.
The Mad Scientist looked over at Dwayne. His smile twisted, and Dwayne knew the answer.
It wasn’t just a job title. This man was called a Mad Scientist because he was absolutely, unequivocally and thoroughly mad.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Dwayne,” he said with an evil grin. “Our team has been working on a rather effective process. It’s perfectly harmless, and absolutely ethical.”
-END-
About the Author
Giando Sigurani likes to write things. He has a website where he talks about how much better he is than everyone located at https://www.giandosigurani.com. He lives in Oregon.
Also by Giando Sigurani
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