The heat of a warm summer’s day bore down on the city of Molina. The bustle of the city combined with the screeching of cars fighting through busy traffic is enough noise to cut through the heavy air that has clouded over the city. The only refuge from the sun the city had to offer other than the shaded storefronts and trees were the tall buildings that stood tall above like towering trees of steel and concrete.
Numerous circular silver automata hummed through the air on battery powered propellers and around anything that had crossed in their path. Some of them maneuvered from park to park, feeding the flower beds scattered across the city, while others were delivering mail and small packages to businesses or the residential areas of Molina. Being the more technologically savvy of the major cities in Desdemalta, the little Silver helpers were just as much as citizens as any warm blooded person walking the streets.
Among the people of the city square, soldiers marched on patrol alongside larger Steel Automata. Their glistening silver shells shone in the light as their heavy footsteps shook the ground below them. The loaded automatic machine guns attached to each arm let off a slight clinking sound with each stomp. The heavy footfalls caused the metal rounds to bounce off their metallic chassis but at this moment they were just for show and not for combat. This is because Desdemalta was at a time of peace, so their guns showed no signs of use. That was how the soldiers wanted it kept that way. Desdemalta had just recently been through a long and bloody war that they had no intention of even fighting in to begin with. Due to the allegiances they had, the Desdemaltan government had no choice but to offer aid and troops to quell the crisis that their neighbors faced. For the worn out and exhausted soldiers, this peace and quiet was a blessing once thought a foreign dream.
Of the citizens walking Molina’s streets, one of them was moving with purpose down a busy sidewalk to her destination. Her black High heeled boots made light taps on the ground as her slender, petite frame maneuvered around the many bodies that covered the sidewalk. Her Auburn brown hair was tied into one long braid that flowed down her back and ended at her lower back. Her pale skin and dark green eyes would make you think she was a ghost but her pink lips and reddening of her shoulder and chest, visible by the low cut white blouse she wore, gave her skin the essence of life that showed she was indeed alive. She carried a large folder that she clung to in her right hand that stayed locked to the side of her black leather business pants. The gold buttons caught slivers of light and shone as she walked by any mirrors or windows. Her black corset hugged her frame nicely and matched the type of leather of her pants. A name badge hung from her neck and bounced off her chest when she walked, the name on it read Karina Sizmarik, Chief Virologist at Zamuni University. Normally Karina would stop and smell the fresh coffee or sample sweets from the nearby bakery, but today she had a mission to accomplish.
By day she worked as a Chief Virologist in a city named Zamuni on the other side of Desdemalta. Until one day her mother went missing, and she had begun hearing rumors of a certain scientific community known as The Vocanov Collective “recruiting” for an unspecified scientific study. Upon further digging, and many whispered interviews behind closed doors, she began to understand why her informants were so terrified to give her information. Of the unethical experiments they run, none who they recruit are ever seen again. Fearing her mother may have been one that was abducted, she took a short leave from her own research and began to follow the collective wherever they had been spotted. The trail grows cold here in Molina, and Karina was able to make contact with another who may be able to shine a light on this mystery.
The agreed meeting spot was a small family owned coffee shop on the other side of town. Karina had to walk from the hotel she was staying at to the train station and take a very long ride all the way to the end of the line where the train stopped service in the industrial complex of Molina. The pretty, bright colors of commercial buildings bled into the stiff grays and the heavy smell of smoke, a sign that she was in the right area. Even in this less populated area, the sidewalks were still packed with workers going to and from their jobs. She walked a few minutes down and around until she reached a four way intersection that led back to central Molina. On the right corner of this intersection sat the coffee shop, a small four corner building with a red roof and a neon sign that read “Obi’s coffee” on the front of the building.
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Entering the shop, Karina looked around for the informant. “She must not be here yet. Then I guess I should get comfortable.” She mumbled to herself.
For the most part the cafe was empty save for the service automata working the front desk and few men who had finished their shift and were now unwinding with coffee and conversation. A television set overhead played the local news station as they discussed the post war relief efforts for refugees and peace treaty terms. The volume was turned down to a low roar meant simply to drown out the silence. She sat at a booth near one of the big windows and ordered a large cup of the strongest coffee they had.
After a few minutes a lanky woman in a long brown pencil skirt, gray button up shirt, and a straw hat came to Karina’s table and took a seat. She looked around in every direction as if making sure she’s not being watched before she interrogated in a hushed almost whisper, “Are you Karina?”
Karina answered, “I am. And you are Ms. Kyrie I assume?”
Kyrie did another frantic scan of her surroundings then answered Karina’s question, “I am. And I brought the information that we talked about over the phone. It was hard to sneak the notes away from my husband so I can’t let you keep them. But by all means you can copy whatever you need.”
Karina smiled, “Thank you. If the things I hear about The Vocanov Collective are true then you are very brave to bring this to me.”
Kyrie’s eyes drop. She picks at the skin of her fingers and whispers, “The things I hear that they do there, it haunts my dreams sometimes. They need to be stopped.”
Kyrie slides the file in her hands across the table towards Karina who opens it and begins studying the frantically scribbled notes and dated photographs. What she notices about them is that the dates do not match up with her other findings. Some have dates on them and events that she had never heard of being done by The Vocanov Collective. Anybody that’s looked into them as much as Karina has, and with as much intuition as she has, can tell that these are fakes.
Karina Interrogates, “Kyrie, where did you get these?” her usually bright and open doe eyes narrow like a snake when they zero in on their prey.
Kyrie stutters, “From my husband.”
Karina taps a finger on the manilla folder and states, “These are fabricated. The dates are all wrong and many of these events are made up. The photos don’t even match the descriptions of what I'm supposed to be seeing. Do you take me for a fool?”
As she presses her interrogation further, Karina hears an audible click under the table. The sound of a handgun’s safety being turned off.
Across the table, Kyrie trembles and begins to sweat as she speaks, “You dug too deep. The Vocanov Collective is aware that you’re looking for them. Now I have to shoot you or get killed myself. That's my punishment for helping you.”
Karina sits back in her chair, calm on the outside but painfully angry on the inside. However, strong emotional outbursts will not see her out of this situation alive. She had expected an outcome like this and now it was time to find a way out.
She started to reason with Kyrie in a soothing tone to counter her already frantic state of mind, “I still stand by what I said about you being brave. I understand this is what you have to do. So, if you plan to take me somewhere to get this done then best to make it quick.”
Kyrie collects her folder and takes Karina’s containing a compilation of evidence she’s already collected. Then she hides her handgun behind her purse to obscure it from any bystander’s vision and waves it at Karina motioning for her to start walking to the door. Karina takes the chance to leave money on the table for her coffee and the two of them leave the shop back out into the summer heat.
Kyrie orders, “We ride the train to the docks, I kill you, and get my freedom. That's the deal.”
Karina remains silent. She’s clearly made up her mind on how this interaction will go. But just like how Kyrie needs to do what’s best for her, so will Karina. So she waits and goes along with this attempt at her life, waiting for her chance to strike.
