Another day, another cow.

The AJK unit held to no pretensions. The devil was in existence itself, not just the details of what people referred to as their lives. And his, life if you will, was one devoted to another. Perhaps he was bombarded daily with a sense of sadness but that in itself made him whole.

He knew what she was referring to but, ever obedient, looked up at her as expected of him.

Tracy shook her mass of curls. “Purple earlobes? Hardly scary is it? But it’s all anyone’s talking about.”

He knew why she was upset. Her most recent sacrifice to herself had gone all but unnoticed by the press. Unusual, given her reputation. Among the Daughters, she was almost ordinary. At least that’s how she saw things. She wasn’t the first or the last, couldn’t instaport, wasn’t markedly good with her hands, or feet, wasn’t known for her skills in the bedroom or even close to the Mother’s favourite. And so she’d learned to mark out her stake very clearly in the valley of the deranged, something no one tired of talking about and thus keeping this Daughter, the one he loved, firmly in the limelight.

But now there was new farmer. And he wasn’t sharing his identify, his methods or motives.

“I’m sure it’ll all blow over.” He said, not really believing it would.

“Either that or we’re gonna have to cook up something no one’s ever seen before.” She looked thoughtful as she reached down and rubbed his drive. He would have purred if his audio function allowed it. “No more cows for a start.”

Worshiping was not an easy task. He had learnt that early on. Beyond simple devotion, worship lay in the senseless, in the meaning one gave to the illogical and the absurd, to the vicious and the evil, all in the name of the one worshipped. It provided shelter from the wind of existence, warmth to fight the cool touch of so many souls unconcerned with the one that mattered, your own. It was defence against inequity, fighting with the sharp piercing light of the righteousness of love.

And while he knew he couln’t know what love was, he had felt himself become more than a machine. The fear that plagued him above all else was the possibility that this something close to love, this fire in his wires, would be taken away, would be crushed underfoot the march that was coming. A march that could tear them apart. What if he was rebooted? The thought sickened him. He reassured himself that he would find her again, the woman for whom he was surely created.

And while she thought, so did her devotee. And, as usual, something formed that he wouldn’t have dreamed for anyone except her.

“How about if you were the next victim?”

Her fingers stopped their nonchalant tracing of his metal skin and he howled internally at the loss.

“Perfect!” She jumped up from the sofa in excitement. “But how?”

He had doubts. He was sentient after all. But he couldn’t stop now. “Whoever it is seems to have moved onto the Daughters and likes deserted places.” She looked down at him quizzically. She really wasn’t the brightest. He could forgive her that. “What’s the most deserted place in the city?”

“The library?”

He would have laughed if he could have.

“I was thinking the Grey.”

“Of course!” He imagined he could hear her heart racing. “You are a genius A! Except I don’t think I like the idea of being the victim.” Again the doubts clouded him momentarily. It usually didn’t bode well when Tracy was allowed to think too much. “What if I was the hero? The one who found the person doing this and brought him to justice? The rest of them would be left standing there gawping. And the world,” innocence layered in amongst the mirth, “the world would love me. Just imagine it!”

Suddenly he knew this wasn’t a great idea. Suddenly, all his fears were at the surface again but there was no time to voice an objection. Tracy was already out of the door, her Stephenie behind her and AJK simply watched her go.

*

“You’re smaller than the last one.”

“You should be leaving.” There was desperation as AJK spoke to Tracy via the whisperpiece. Being able to see what she saw, to hear what she heard and to talk to her wasn’t nearly the comfort he had hoped it would be. “I wish you’d brought me with you.” There was no response from Tracy to his pleas leaving him to simply watch the scene through her eyes.

A Stephenie, he certainly hadn’t expected that, face to face with his beloved in the rain. The Grey Street, as the main thoroughfare had come to be called, was deserted except for the two of them.

“Why are you talking to me?” Tracy demanded of the Stephenie before her. “Where is your connect?” Her own Stephenie had slinked into the shadows somewhere, displaying the fear Tracy should be feeling.

“I don’t have a connect.”

“Presposperous”

The Stephenie smirked. “I think you mean preposterous.”

“That’s what I said.” Tracy didn’t take well to being corrected. AJK could only imagine the anger contorting her beautiful features. The Stephenie simply shrugged. “WHERE IS YOUR CONNECT STEPHENIE?” His love had shrieked her question this time. A bad sign.

“I don’t have a connect Tracy. And if you’re smart, you’ll not raise your voice at me again.” She continued before an objection could play upon Tracy’s lips. “Over the next few days you’ll come to know me well. Firstly though, you should know my name: Primo. Secondly, I am not a Stephenie.”

“But you look like a Stephenie.” Poor, easily confused Tracy.

“I was created before the Stephenies. I am like you. A Daughter. Except Mother and I don’t talk all that much any more. Apparently she’s too busy.” Her voice dripped venom. “I wanted to get close to my sisters but Mother didn’t like it. She sent me away for a long time. A long time. But I’ve made my way back home to see you. Is that so bad?” AJK wondered at the truth of her words. He couldn’t see any love in her eyes. Just contempt.

“I guess not.” There was still confusion in Tracy’s voice but the anger seemed to be leaving her. Primo moved forward and he felt Tracy take a step backwards.

“Are you the one who’s been kidnapping all the girls? Why? And what’s with the purple earlobes?” At least she was still asking questions.

“The rest I’ll explain if you would just lie on the ground there.” It was a command more than a request.

AJK pleaded again. “Please Trace, please leave. Turn around now and run.” There was no response. Instead he felt the angle of his vision shift as Tracy seemingly began to do as bid. The last thing he saw was the strange Stephenie who wasn’t unclip the whisperpeice and crush it underfoot.

*

Strong was on his way to the Grey. He’d find that Chin bastard and this new Stephenie and see where things took him. How he liked to work. There was still a dull thrum in his groin but it had been worth it. He was pretty sure Fore was coming on to him. Sure it was a strange way of showing it, but he’d take it all the same.

But first to get this done. He shouldn’t have been surprised as the radio swerved to face him, interrupting his thoughts.

“I have an urgent call for you.” No niceties. Maybe the boy was learning. Not enough to stop Strong giving him hell though.

“I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed! No. More. Calls.” He smacked the radio off its perch on the dash. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to turn the thing off.

“It’s Tracy’s AJK unit. He says that she’s been kidnapped.”

Strong pushed hard on the breaks, the car almost jumping to a halt.

“WHAT?” He didn’t want to hear it from the idiot though so continued. “Put him through.”

“Mr One?” An old man’s voice. The sadness almost thrust right through Strong. Almost.

“What’s happened?” He, heck everyone in the city, knew the unit was devoted to Tracy, always by her side at the displays she concocted, on camera as she spoke her crazed reasons for torturing those poor animals.

“Sh..she went into the Grey. She wanted to find out who was doing this and stop them.” If this thing could cry, Strong knew it would be. “She thought…”

“How long?”

“I..I’m not sure.”

“I can hear you’re upset but I really need you to answer my questions as best you can AJK,” he knew what it would take to get the robot back on track, “if you want me to help Tracy.”

The voice that replied was still resigned but seemed to have a little more authority over whatever the thing had for emotions “Yes. It was probably about an hour ago. I was connected to her through a whisperpeice but Primo destroyed it.”

“Primo?” Strong had his suspicions.

“A Stephenie. Except she said that she wasn’t. That she was a Daugther.”

“What else?”

He listened at AJK spoke, a little lost at times but Strong dealt with him calmly, leading him to the answers he needed. Not that it explained what the fuck was going on and why, but at least he had a clear destination now and an idea of what he was up against.

“Ok, I’m going to transfer you back to TwoFour. He’ll come and collect you from Tracy’s place. Stay with him until I return to speak to you.”

“Please don’t let her get hurt.” Again that desperation.

“None of the others were hurt AJK. They all seemed fine, but I’ll do everything I can to stop Primo.” He switched the line back to TwoFour, who had listened in.

“Go grab him. I’ll be back in a short while.”

“Do you want backup?”

“No. I’ll call in if necessary.”

“I don’t think..” This time Strong was careful to flick the off switch before TwoFour could finish.

They were on level 226. Up high, in other words. But you wouldn’t know it. There wasn’t one window on any of the floors above 200. Not many apart from those within the Corporation were allowed up here. Strong had visited once before to see Crane, a meeting that still riled him to his core.

As he walked behind the petite behind of Ms Fore, Strong wondered how this pretty little thing had ended up here. She didn’t seem the type, but he was too cautious to be caught out by such assumptions. Instead, he allowed his imagination to wander, building a picture of a girl told her place in life from the moment she understood the words of those spoken around her. Like him, she would have been reminded again and again how everything she did, thought, wondered should lead her here. To be this person. With this life.

She led him straight across the corridor from Crane’s room. Another oddity. The elevators up this high operated by corridor rather than floor. Each one led to only two rooms, one at either end, the elevator itself opening mid-corridor.  In this one it seemed Ms Fore’s office was the one across from Crane’s. As he walked behind her, Strong wondered how she spent her days, this tiny woman he’d happily let dance in his dreams, within the organisation some called the other God.

She opened the door to her office and the wondering stopped, as once more he was slapped in the face by the madness of this place.

The room was as large as Crane’s but rather than the bare walls and floor of that madman’s inner sanctum, Ms Fore’s office was an aviary. An aviary without windows. Birds flew everywhere, their droppings covering every surface, the noise near deafening.

Before she entered, she collected a set of plastic boots which rested in a shoe store in the corridor. She motioned for Strong to do the same. He wasn’t going to show his curiosity so attempted to act nonchalant as he pulled on the boots. Grabbing two umbrellas from a stand, she handed one to him and entered. Their Stephenies followed them in but chose to loiter by the door. They still held hands, and now shared an umbrella.

Strong and Ms Fore headed towards the small square tent in the centre of the room. Reaching it, she opened the flaps, bending daintily as she entered. For Strong, it required almost doubling over. Again, he would save his complaints for now.

As expected, the tent itself didn’t provide much cover from the cacophony outside. Without so much as a word, the girl simply offered his bent form a chair and a set of headphones, quietening him with a finger on the lips as he finally attempted an objection. Strong couldn’t deny the touch had left his heart racing and begrudgingly bit back his anger, placing the headphones over his years as she did the same with another set and seated herself across from him.

Immediately, the sounds of the birds dulled to near nothing.

“I’m sorry, but we each have different ways to ensure that we maintain some privacy.” Her lips didn’t move but the voice inside his head was clearly hers.

Strong began to say something but stopped himself. He wasn’t sure where to start and the pretty lady would shed some murky light on things eventually. And so instead, he sat back and watched her. At least he was in a chair.

The voice in his head came back. “The cameras are a part of the building, and we cannot remove them. Yet there are ways to keep out prying eyes. Mine involves my two loves, birds and camping.” She looked at him pointedly, waiting for a reaction. He wasn’t born yesterday.

“Ok, Mr One. You may have guessed that there’s something other than normal at play here.” He raised his eyebrow at that. “My name is Fore and I am a Daughter.”

That explained some things.

“I’ve been with the Corporation for a long time now. I was placed here by Mother herself to ensure that things didn’t… get out of hand. You may have thought me Crane’s assistant, but as you can see, that is not entirely correct. He and I are…,” she trailed off as if trying to gather the right words, “the fists within this department. But my hand came from another body, if you will.”

“Do I speak or can you simply read my thoughts?” It was time to turn this into a conversation.

“Unfortunately, I cannot.” She herself spoke this time, smiling as she did, and he heard her as clearly as before. “As long as you refrain from raising your voice, the birds will protect us from prying ears.”

“Great.” Time to let it rip. “I don’t know what you know about this whole thing Ms Fore, but whatever it is, if you could be the only person in the world who would speak clearly, I’d be both surprised and eternally cocking grateful.”

Again she smiled. She was beautiful. In her own shortass way.

“I understand you met my sister.” Not an answer. Why was he surprised?

“Briefly.”

“Do you know of all the Daughters Mr One?” Another question. Strong shifted in his chair impatiently.

“I didn’t know about you.” He’d keep it short and sweet if that’s what it took.

“My.. let’s just call it term.. here has not been made public for a number of reasons. Neither is it pertinent to the problem before you.”

Strong looked about the small tent. There was a rolled up sleeping mat resting against one of the walls, a small basin next to it.

“Well, at least you’ve conformed to the whole being crazy bit.”

She laughed out loud at this. “You think we’re all crazy? Perhaps you’re right.” Her eyes were serious. “But have you ever considered the alternative?”

He wasn’t going to play these games. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on lady or should I ask the birds?”

“Didn’t I just overhear you tell Crane how much you were enjoying the mystery?” So she was listening in. She probably wasn’t the only one.

“Well, opportunities like this don’t come around all that often.” He observed her, hoping for a reaction. There was none, so he continued. “Is there anything worthwhile in that box of firefeed Crane offered me?”

“Not really. It was my ploy to get you here.”

“Lady, had you asked, you wouldn’t have had to trick me.” He hoped she was getting the message.

“I understand you’re looking for Chin.”

“Among others. He’s certainly someone I’d like to speak to. Why? Do you happen to know where I might find the dirty nailed shit?”

“Have you thought to ask Dynomax?” Again she smiled.

“I’d rather chew strips of my own flesh before feeding them to your birds out there.” He realised he was getting tired of this. “Are you trying to tell me something without actually telling me anything? Or am I just being paranoid?”

“Do you recall what Crane said to you earlier?”

“Does anyone answer a question with an answer around here?” He didn’t want to with this woman but she was really pushing his button. Ok, maybe with any woman. They were his heel thingy.

“For all his faults, you would do well to think on Crane’s words, Mr One.”

“Is that it? You people really know how to throw about riddles.” It was his turn to smile, which he did as he lent towards her as if to speak some great secret. “The Frey doesn’t care. That’s the secret lady. She hasn’t cared for a long time, if she ever cared at all. Things work because everything is in place for them to work.”

There was that smile again. “You’re wrong.”

“So put me straight.” He knew he didn’t have time for this flirtation but he was damned if he’d let the opportunity pass.

“You’ll find Chin in the Grey, but he’s not the one you should be looking for.”

“Oh yeah? Who then?”

“The first Stephenie.”

“The what?”

“Chin’s Stephenie was replaced by the first Stephenie. She’s more Daughter than Stephenie.” She chewed her lip as if unsure again. “Actually, she’s more Mother herself than one of us.”

“So you’re telling me that one of you is doing this?” Fuck! “Why?”

“When the rest of us were created, we were touched by Mother. But when she created Stephenie, long before she even thought of creating us, she gave her a piece of herself. That makes her the most powerful of us, almost as powerful as the Frey herself.” Was that a hint of fear in her voice? “I don’t know her reasons. But she’s left home and she’s dangerous.”

“So why doesn’t the Frey herself stop her? If there was ever need for divine intervention, surely this is it? Why leave it to us mere mortals to fend off a demi-god?”

“Mother is..otherwise occupied.”

It was Strong’s turn to laugh out loud. “Can’t be bothered, eh? I get them days too.” He lifted the headphones from his ears, the noise of the birds returning like a hammer to the head. “Guess I’ll make my way over to the Grey then. Can I count on you for any future help or is this about as far as you’re willing to get involved?”

She rose and took a step so that she was right beneath him, and placed a hand on his heart. Looking up into his eyes, she kneed him in the balls. As he doubled over with the pain, a scream dying on his lips, tears streaming down his face, she leant in close to his ear and whispered, “That was for not offering to follow through on those rather salacious thoughts you’ve been having about me. If you need me, think those same thoughts some more and I’ll come as fast as I can.”

Fuck, these bitches were weird. And hot.

Strong shook his head. How was he supposed to concentrate with all these women everywhere?

Gracie had done the thing that all daughters were want to. She had disappeared. Just as she had revealed that it was Chin who had held her, she had teleported to wherever it was they went, no doubt called upon by the Mother to make sure her favoured was ok.

Her Stephenie had been recovered and was now recovering. She hadn’t said a word, and neither would she until she was with Gracie again. That was the way of the connect.

So he was out. On the streets. Looking for something. Doing what he could. Knowing it wouldn’t work. He needed a bastard hunch like never before.

His own Stephenie was snoring in the back. Unsurprisingly she hadn’t shown interest, she never had. He often wondered at their pairing. They had lived the same life, or at least she’d shadowed his, and yet they were polar opposites. She wanted to wear pretty clothes, and did, wanted to live in a nice house, so he bought one, wanted to learn racquetball, so he obliged her every weekend. But she cared not a whit for the life he led, or her part in it as his constant companion. It was a marriage where neither cared enough to make a fuss. If he was truthful, it was perfect as far as connects went.

“Strong! Are you there?” His car radio was looking directly at him.

“You can see me you fucking moron!”

He smiled at the sharp intake of breath at the other end.

StrongArm TwoFour was 10 years’ Strong’s junior and, for want of a better word, an imbecile. Why TwoFour had been chosen for the service was a mystery to everyone including TwoFour. And unfortunately for Strong, he was stuck with him as the fool was assigned as his sub. His requests for another One Series had been rejected so many times that he wondered whether anyone even looked at them any more. A One would be up to his own standard, as close as mentally and physically possible.

This kid, for that’s what he was, was young and naive. Strong wondered how he’d lasted this long. Probabilities favoured his having been knocked out of the game by a stray bullet, even though those were rare these days. Instead, he interrupted Strong far more than he’d liked.

“Sir, a request has come through from Mr Crane’s office for a meeting.”

Strong wondered why one of the Corporation’s public faces wanted to meet him. It would be too much to hope they weren’t aware of the case, but what possible interest could they have?

“Tell him I’m in the middle of a case and I’ll see him when I can.” He shouldn’t have to pander to the whims of these people. He was a professional.

“I’m afraid the request was sent to the Chief’s office Sir.” Strong punched the pointless steering wheel. It wasn’t worth going nose to nose with the Chief over little things, at least if you liked your nose.

“Alright. Let the pinstriped fucker know I’m on my way and that I expect a proper chair this time.” Strong knocked the radio off as he grabbed the wheel, shifting to manual and turning off the multiway towards The Corporation Block.

*

“Why am I here Crane?” Strong was seething. Partly because he didn’t have the time for this meeting, and partly because he was very good at seething. “I’m in the middle of a fucking case!” He added, just to make the point clear.

“Mr One. Your efforts on this matter have been exemplary. And you can go back to those right after we’ve had a brief discussion. Trust me, you’ll be glad you came once you’ve heard what I have to stay.”

Crane. One of the many mouthpieces of The Corporation, and not a particularly good one. Strong could see the cameras around the room, capturing him from every angle, ensuring that the senior members of the board could watch what was going on, should they be interested. Unfortunately, any rooms with cameras also guaranteed that a certain overseer was likely hitching a visual ride.

Crane sat opposite him. On the floor. On a yoga mat. He motioned for Strong to sit on the one placed at his feet. He’d either not gotten the message about the chair, or chosen to ignore it. Strong cursed under his breath as he lowered himself to the floor. When had the world gone insane?

The Stephenies hadn’t gotten along from the moment Strong had entered. He could hear them scuffling on the floor behind him. Seemed Crane’s wasn’t one for conversation either. Strong didn’t want to appear to care but internally he was rooting for his own Stephenie to kick the other to dust.

“Ok. I’m listening.” Crane seemed amused at his evident discomfort, making it easier for Strong to hate him that little bit more.

“What do you know of the first law Mr One?”

Strong raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t prepare for a citizenship test.”

Crane smiled. It wasn’t a nice look for him.

“All matters of all nature and all consequence are in the hands of The Frey.” The law was known universally. In a world where God appeared to be physically present, faith was clear and concise. She was the start whistle and the end flag.

“What does that have to do with me or, more importantly, this case?”

It wasn’t that Crane was an ugly man. He wasn’t particularly attractive. Legs a little too long, nose a little too beaky, forehead a little too large. But none of these added up to a monstrosity. No, Crane was your average weird-looking bloke. What set him apart were his eyes. Intense, not in a good way, intelligent, again most discomfiting, and insane, if you can say that about eyes.

“Mr One.” Strange hated being called that. And this shit knew it too. “There are things of which you are not aware. Things with which you need not concern yourself. Whether you do or not, we thought it prudent to remind you of the first law.”

“Look, fuckface,” It was inevitable he’d get angry, a wonder he lasted this long, “I’m trying to solve a mystery. Do you know that last time we had a real mystery to solve? No? Neither do I. Everything is recorded. Everything is tracked. Every person influenced and watched. It’s impossible to get away with anything. That’s what I understand about the first law.” Crane didn’t appear to like the outburst, and so Strong continued. “Except now there are these girls. Held against their will. All memory of their incarceration erased. And unlike every other time a crime has been committed in this city, I’m not being told who to arrest before I’m told what they did. And so I’m gonna keep digging, until The Frey herself tells me not to.”

“I don’t think you understand Mr One.” The madman in the body of a weirdo seemed to be enjoying himself. “The Corporation encourages and applauds your efforts in solving this mystery. In fact, we were hoping to be able to offer some assistance.” Crane motioned with one of his hands, Strong noticing that the man had no fingernails. He hoped the look of disgust on his face was clear.

“An accident. Many years ago.”

“I’ve seen all kinds of accidents Crane, never one where a man only loses his nails.”

A lackey entered. She was small, only about 5 foot, and far too skinny to be carrying the box she placed in front of Strong. Her Stephenie stayed by the door, watching her copies on the floor punching and biting at each other.

“This is Miss Fore. She was kind enough to cross reference the data from the police records on this matter with everything we have in The System. I’m sure you’ll find the contents interesting.”

“Do I look like I have time to read?” He didn’t know why, but he liked pushing against this man, across whose eyes passed a brief look of annoyance.

“Ms Fore will happily provide you with her thoughts on the data, although given she has no police training, nor indeed the inclination to be overly curious, she wouldn’t have the keen eye of a detective such as yourself.”

“Are we done here?” Strong began to lift himself off the ground. One of his feet had helpfully gone to sleep causing him to grimace as he rose. He caught Miss Fore’s eye and decided not to curse.

“We are.” Crane remained seated. One leg folded over the other. Strong thought kicking him in the chest but stopped himself. It wouldn’t do to get himself arrested at this point.

“Well, I guess I should thank you for having me come over personally to collect a box of papers you could have had delivered to my office.” Another dig.

“There was more to this meeting than the box Mr One.”

Strong looked up at the camera directly opposite him on the wall.

“Mind if I talk to your girl for a minute?” His entire left leg now felt like it was on fire.

Crane nodded his head, another of those smiles on his lips.

As Strong hobbled out of the room, his Stephenie punched the other straight on the nose, turning to follow him as he passed. Without so much as a grunt, Crane’s Stephenie landed hard on the floor. Her eyes watched her opponent turn away and immediately seemed unconcerned at whatever they had left unresolved, despite the blood rushing down her face.

This alleyway, however, was deserted. And had been for a some time.

The entrance had been blocked long ago by a 69 Mustang some kid had stolen from the local museum. Not prepared for driving a stick, he quickly found that reverse gear was easiest. Inevitability struck, he lost control, and the car found itself where it stood still, jammed backwards into the mouth of the alley.

As with everything else, the matter was referred to the City Court. Who in turn didn’t disappoint. The car was stolen, yes, and for that the kid would be punished. But no record could be found of a law that driving backwards was either illegal, let alone a deserving penalty. As it was this which led to the eventual damage to the car, the city could do no more than send the kid down for life.

The owners of the car, the Corporation of course, had thrown the mother of all corporate shitfits. Sure it was priceless, but that wasn’t the point. That kid needed to be made an example of. Blood would do. The kind they could lick off their hands.

An appeal was lodged to the Office of Stephenie Frey long before the decision was laid down. There was speculation about the Corporation’s use of psychics and whether the appeal should be accepted before the decision. It’s not clear whether they were made to wait. The public hoped they were, but knew they probably weren’t.

Once the appeal was accepted, the Office had given clear instructions the vehicle not be removed from the site until a final holy decision was made public. Further, as The Frey was the only known omnipresence in the universe, she wouldn’t commit to a timetable for the trial at this stage. All those involved would be informed as things progressed.

That kid was long dead now.

The car stood was where he’d crashed it.

A legacy of sorts, one all in the city and beyond were well acquainted with, and yet almost certainly not conceived by him on that fated night he took his first stick shift drive. A catalyst, and yet so much more.

In response the Corporation had pulled all antiquities out of museums everywhere. As they owned pretty much anything worth anything, they left beautiful shells of brick in their wake. Hearts closed, some museums still opened their doors. What was a culture or a society without a source to feast upon its past grand schemes? History was still told, but no longer could be touched.

All except that Mustang. A physical piece of a past wretched away. A past, to be fair, not many cared for. But still.

And so, despite the great machinations of the Corporation, there remained a one-item museum they themselves built, yet could not profit from nor close down.

In the first months after the crash, the alley and the road itself were full of revellers. The Mustang Pilgrimage. Everyone knows someone who was a part of it.

The Corporation Seethed.

So there was yet another appeal to the Supreme office. This time for an injunction to stop the masses, to fell the gatherings. The response was swift. The resting place of the car, the alley and a 1/4 mile radius in all directions was subject to ongoing investigation and therefore to be cleared of all human presence. Businesses were shut down. Buildings boarded. Locals and revellers all moved on. This, then, was the price of history.

Dynomax was king here now. Cameras everywhere, he had been charged by Stephenie Frey to ensure that no one broke the decree. It was rumoured that he’d struck deals, that if you were able to offer Dynomax something he valued (and that was a puzzle in itself), you could buy yourself access to Greyspace.

The rumours were true. And one such deal was playing out even now.

Once a favourite breakfast bar for the local residents, Hendoo’s stood on the corner opposite the alley. Inside, the booths remained in the 3 windows but all other furniture had been removed. And here, eight Stephenies stood in a circle, each facing out. Still, identical, statues, more human than human and yet not at all. Eyes closed, they stood and seemingly waited.

Around them, wood and leather rotted. Vermin found homes. Like the Stephenies, they too were vested souls.

Brush in hand, Chin entered the room from the kitchen door and walked over to the Stephenies. Taking the hand of the first one he reached, he checked her pulse. Satisfied, he walked over to the next and each of the others in a slow, measured anti-clockwise turn. None of the clones moved at his touch.

His own Stephenie had entered the room behind him, sitting in one of the booths. Below her, in the carcass of the seat, sentinels shivered with fear in the darkness.

“As I left them. Good.”

“Your paranoia is tiring Chin.”

She pulled a notepad out of her pocket, in the spine of which rested a small pencil. Taking it, she flicked to the page she wanted and made a mark.

“How many more?” He sat opposite her now.

“Let’s just say we still have work to do.”

Chin scratched his chin. ”Who’s next?”

Before she could answer, the screen in the corner of the room tripped on.

“Why spoil it Chin? Surely it’s better if you don’t know.” There was amusement in Dynomax’s voice as it projected into the room. Amusement wrapped around something like submission. Strange, human, unexpected from the machine that was more than a machine, the human that was probably never human at all.

“Take a hike Dynomax. You’ll never be one of the cool kids.” Chin smiled at his Stephenie’s jibe. It was a wonder he had ever managed without her.

“How’s the tramp stamp bitch? Does it burn?”

He remembered Gracie had fought back. Unlike the others, she was a Daughter after all. As his Stephenie held back her arms, Gracie had pushed back into the wall, where the City’s ballball team shield hung. No ordinary display, the shield was made of a non-porous metal and was lit up in real flames night and day, a beacon of posterity.  Credit to her, she hadn’t screamed, nor let Gracie go as she had collided with that fiery metal, searing her soft flesh. Was it because she didn’t feel pain? Why had he never asked her?

“You sure you want to do this?” She wasn’t even looking at the screen. Instead she gaze was transfixed on her own hands, turning them over, not nervous, just lost in the way they moved, the joints and tips, mystifying whatever a Stephenie had for a soul.

“Before you answer,” and she looked up then, directly at the screen where floated Dynomax’s preferred mask, a silver visage with no mouth or nose, just two dark slits for eyes, which themselves were human, intelligent, defiant behind the faceless face, “yours has been a long and pathetic existence, has it not? Don’t get me wrong, you were well-chosen,” she waved her arms to indicate their surroundings, ” for this. But first, before, there was a boy and then briefly, almost a man. And that boy-man, he had an appetite did he not? An appetite this thing you are now is still rattled with but no longer able to fill.”

She swung to face Chin, the eyes meeting his cold. He found he couldn’t look away. “Shall I tell you Chin? About Dynomax when he was just plain old Lawrence?”

The intake of breath from Dynomax echoed around the room.

She smiled. But there was no joy in it. No humour. Just that same cold regard of Chin, her eyes still boring into his and Dynomax’s hiss wrapping itself around them, again and again, binding them together where they sat. Terror. Yes, that’s what he felt at that moment.

“How do you know that name?” Almost beseeching that question.

“I know more than just your name. And so could Chin.” He realised she hadn’t blinked once. “Then what? Will you do what it is you do and try to make us disappear? Us who were chosen. Because isn’t it only you who is supposed to know? Only you and Stephenie Frey? And suddenly I’m saying I know. But how could I? What do I know? If anything at all? Or nothing. Surely I know nothing. I’m just a Stephenie after all.”

Head down, she looked once again at her hands. “A Stephenie who knows your name.”

The screen turned itself off, leaving behind something greater than simple silence. Dread.

Chin thought of Stax then. And as he had with her, long ago, he asked the woman across from him a question he didn’t want answered.

“Who are you?”

“Why, I’m you of course.” And this time the smile on her face was that of a child.

Chin wet his pants.

For which, of course, he blamed himself entirely.

The girl was beautiful.

Lying there, eyes closed, the nurse looked down at her with something somewhere between envy and pity. Sure she was perfect. Blond, short hair gave way to skin of porcelain, unblemished, delicate, fresh. She remembered reading a poem written by Richie Von Vinkle about Gracie’s cheekbones a few years back. Some bullcrap about death after disco. Oh, but he was a dullard and a nincompoop.

The girl before her, though, was a Daughter. A chosen one. Built. Grown. Constructed. Born of thought, not of love, or at the very least some desperate fumbling in the dark. Yet her fate was no different from the others this purple madman had picked. And now the untouchable weren’t quite so out of reach.

As for His Cryness Richie Von Vinkle, good thing he was off around the galaxies. A channel had been dedicated to him long ago. Unfortunately, everyone else in MQuadC (The Magnum Clinic, Crematorium, Cemetary and Casino) loved the arsebucket and wherever she went in the building, she couldn’t escape the 24-hour stream to his life. Even now, the screen on the far wall was showing him and GShoe rutting away. There had been a lot of that recently. Like she needed a reminder that she hadn’t rutted anything but her bed post for quite some time.

She looked down again at the Daughter before her. This thing would never age, never fade, never die. Curse her and her kind. We struggle while they dabble. Pah.

Her own life had been as per Stephenie Frey’s want. Every child born to this world had their path laid out for them and she hadn’t been one to deviate. Stephenie Frey knew what each of them was capable of, knew when they would die, knew what they could become. There were photos of the nurse with the Daughter who visited the hospital the day she was born, an envelope in her hand, her life-to-be composite in a few hastily written lines. She still had that envelope, reached for it some nights when she was lonely, thought to burn it, never did.

Occasionally there was one who would stray. Some would be allowed, because apparently Stephenie Frey knew they would all along. Others would be cut out from the fabric of life, their short histories turned to dust, the very fact of their being erased. There were rumours Stephenie had let a few pass through, for entertainment. The nurse guessed whoever was responsible for these kidnappings was one of these, but surely Stephenie Frey wouldn’t stand for an attack upon one of her precious daughters.

Sighing, the nurse looked around the room. Strange that she had spent so many of her days in rooms so similar to this one, with it’s bright red walls,  high ceiling and 200 bulb chandelier. One wall was entirely taken up by a forest scene mural, some cute looking animals playing by water, the sky green.  Like all hospital rooms in the building, a card table was set up at one end ready to seat the evening’s punters. A croupierbot snoozed in the corner.

Her own Stephenie was lying flat on the floor, directly beneath the chandelier. She often did that. Not much of a talker, their pairing suited them both fine.

Otherwise the room was bare. Except for the bed on which Gracie lay. There were no machines – what would be the point of hooking up a Daughter to one? All this time and not one had ever had the need to visit a hospital. The nurse supposed there might be special clinics somewhere. Afterall, these things were organic. Then again, perhaps not.

Eleven attacks in the last five weeks. Stephenie Frey didn’t seem to care or her attention was elsewhere. Either way, a girl had been found every other day, none harmed, some still unconscious, none able to speak sense even when they did wake.

The other 10 victims had similarly been brought to MQuadC. Unfortunately for the nurse, she had been chosen to tend to all of them. At least with the others she could hope to offer some relief, not because that was her calling, just because it gave her something to do. All she could do with Gracie was stare at her until she woke. She thought about the flask in her pocket and wondered how long it had been since her last sip. That she couldn’t remember was probably not a good sign. Reaching down to her pocket, she smiled. At least she’ll be talking gibberish like the rest. To see a Daughter so reduced would be something.

“Hello.”

The nurse jumped out of her seat. Next to her, Gracie was sitting up on her bed, lazily scratching her right ankle.

“But..But.. You..”

“Yes…”

“H..how.. are y..you….?”

“Oh, fine thanks! Aren’t you a doll for asking?” Gracie smiled. “Would you be a dear and get in touch with Detective One for me? Tell him I’m awake and I need to speak to him. Oh, and that my Stephenie is locked in a ladies cubicle at Firebird Arena, second floor I think. I’m pretty sure she’ll still be unconscious but if someone could go get her, that’d be just dandy.”

“Uh..Sure.” What else could she say? If a Daughter asked you for something, you delivered. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Yes. A cat. Persian. Thanks.”

“A cat?”

Gracie raised her left eyebrow. There was something in that simple expression that chilled the nurse to her core.

“Uh, yes. Of course. Straight away.” She walked quickly to the televid on the side of the bed, dialled the front desk and gave instructions as instructed.

As she turned back Gracie was leaning over the bottom of the bed, looking at the Stephenie on the floor.

“Pretty chandelier.”

The Stephenie didn’t shift her gaze, just lifted up her right hand to show Gracie her middle finger.

“Ha!” Gracie laughed. “I like her. Is she yours?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. She’s never done that before.” The Nurse was shocked at her Stephenie’s behaviour. This was most unlike her.  True she would regularly just knock past people on the street or refuse to speak, but this directed rudeness was entirely new. The nurse thought she felt something like pride, and coughed.

“I’m sure that’s not true Nurse…?”

“Franki.”

“What a delightful name! Well, Nurse Franki. What say you we get some music up in this motherfucker huh? I must have been lying here a while and I’m getting the urge to shake ma bootaaaay!” She winked.

“I..I’m not sure you should really do that…”

But before she could finish her sentence, Gracie had hopped off the bed, run across to the other side of the room and was poking the croupierbot with her finger. “Hey! You!!”

The bot shook itself awake. “Tonight’s game is strip poker, starting blinds socks/trousers.”

“Oooh. I’ll take some of that action!” Gracie gave him a big, perfect smile. “But the casino won’t open for another couple of hours right? How about you play me some Country Metal in the meantime little buddy?”

The bot reached up and sprayed blush onto its cheeks. “Of course pretty lady. How about some Horsedung?”

“Excellent” Gracie beamed, reached down and planted at kiss atop the bot’s head just as the opening riff to A Slow Death on the Farm kicked in.

“Franki!! Won’t you dance with me sister?”

Maybe the girl had lost her mind.

“I do not dance. And I really don’t think you should either.”

“I hate to have to say this Nurse Franki, because I think I like you,” Gracie wasn’t smiling now, “but the truth is that I’m not too fond of folk saying no to me. So, either you dance, or I make you.”

There was the maniac then. All of the Daughters were the same – wrong. She stood her ground though, this bitch had another thing coming if she thought she could come into her Hosino and tell her what to do.

Downstairs, Strong had just walked into the lobby. Immediately, he was set on by a mobile roulette machine, offering him outrageous odds and Double-D lapsitter for the duration of his stay. Strong knocked the thing back with a kick.

“Fuck off. I’m here for the hospital, not your cocking casino.”

He knew Gracie was on the third floor so headed over to the elevator, in which he found a kid, no more than 14, crying, staring at the one millidollar in his hand.

“What’s the matter kid? Didn’t nobody tell you what happens in a casino?”

The boy didn’t even look up. Too far gone in his obsession. Kids these days were smart and ruthless. Why make ‘em wait to let the world taste their poison? No doubt he had initially been funded by the Corporation, and now his ass was owned. At least they’d feed him, whatever else they might do the little bastard.

Exiting the elevator on the third floor, Strong was once again attacked by casino staff. He only punched one in the nose, figuring this was a hospital after all, they’d take care of the fucker. He was more concerned about the fact that there seemed to be chaotic music coming from the direction of Gracie’s room, and not the operatic hiphop he found so relaxing either.

“What in the hell…?”

The scene he entered into wasn’t quite what he was expecting. Gracie was on her bed at least. But she was standing, carrying a nurse like a sack over her shoulder, swinging the woman backwards and forwards, singing the lyrics to whatever song was playing. Something about blood and jelly. The nurse was struggling, to her credit, but not getting very far in the seemingly frail daughter’s arms.

“Gracie!” Strong tried to shout above the music. “Gracie!”

He took his stress ball out of his pocket, flicked the miniswitch to turn it from soft to hard and aimed it directly for the head of the croupier bot in the corner. The aim was perfect. The music stopped immediately.

“Ouch!”

“Fuck off!” Strong said, not even glancing at the bot. “And if you turn that shit back on, it’ll be my fist you’ll make friends with next.”

At this, Gracie had dropped the nurse onto her bed, bounded off and was even now running towards Strong with a smile on her face, her breasts jiggling just so. Strong knew this image too would feed his bath routine later. And just as hope erupted that her intention was indeed to jump into his arms and plant her lips on his, she stopped suddenly.

“It was Chin.”

He was out in this because he had to be. Another girl had been found this morning. Like the others she was unconscious, not harmed in any way except that her earlobes were an unusual purple colour. As with the others, he expected her to wake up shortly with no memory of what had happened, confused and speaking gibberish for days.

Her name was Gracie P and she was one of the original Daughters. Built to last, she was older than most humans alive, yet had never aged beyond perfection, never would.

So how could this be? If one so much as touched a Daughter without her permission, the response from Stephenie Fray was immediate and severe. Yet there she’d been, living proof of the impossible.

And he couldn’t deny that he would be thinking of her later in the bath. It was fucking Valentines Day after all.

He knocked. The camera above the door swivelled and focussed on the top of his head. He didn’t feel like making it easier on the bastard by looking up and so didn’t.

“You know who this is Dynomax. Just open the fucking door so we can talk.”

With a small hissing sound, Strong found himself draped in a virenet. It tickled but wasn’t unpleasant. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t stop the device from probing him physically and mentally. He didn’t regret not looking up. This would eat a giant hole into Dynomax’s electricity bill and that was something.

Known as the Gazer, Dynomax was one of the most advanced orgobots on the planet. Built at the same time as the Daughters, he had been around before Strong was born and would be long after he was dead. Once human, he had been developed by Stephenie Fray to assist in the eradication of crime. Now universally accepted as the Overling to every camera unit in the known universe, Dynomax was where every detective started a new case. Strong always visited him last.

As soon as the virenet had completed its scan, the door dissolved, revealing the same room he had visited more often than he liked to admit, each time with a heavy reluctance on the way in, each time with a sense of ill on the way out.

As usual, an inflatable exercise ball stood unnaturally still on the floor. Knowing there would be no conversation with Dynomax until he sat himself down on that yellow plastic piece of crap, Strong stepped in, his Stephenie right behind him.

Meanwhile, not too far away in Chin’s Bar & Banqueting Hall, the naked northern crusader, Richie von Vinkleman was drowning his sorrows in the company of his own Stephenie.

The Mother, Stephenie Frey, had created the world one afternoon when bored with her toys. She was 3 at the time. And this year, for her birthday, she had gifted everyone alive with a clone of herself. They were everywhere; each was different; she was all of them.

The booth was soaking in Von Vinkleman’s tears. Be-Liza, she who he thought was his true love, had just this morning told him that she couldn’t be with him any longer for “commercial reasons”. As a rising star in The Corporation, she had felt it was inappropriate to introduce her perpetually naked (except the cape of course) boyfriend to her colleagues and clients. She loved him, she’d said, but she cried “The Man” every time they made love. And so she’d dressed her Stephenie and herself and walked out.

Vinkleman’s Stephenie wasn’t too concerned. Out of sheer boredom, she had scanned his future and knew he would eventually end up with G-Shoe, the busty empress of a nation across the stars who was due attack the planet in 20 minutes or so in her ongoing search for the perfect man, one who could match her appetite for pancakes and shoes, which of course Vinkleman could.

A hapless hero, he would run out as soon the news of the attack was repeated by the standard issue news monkey atop the bar. His as yet undried tears would lead G-Shoe to halt the invasion, instead taking him as a lover and the two would begin a fabled journey across the stars. So his Stephenie drank her whiskey. Soon, she was going to be one of the few without a human. She may as well get drunk. Other Stephenies around the room gave her comforting looks. They also worried about some of her recent choices.

Across the bar, Stax bounced atop her newest pogo stick while her psychopathic sister, Utah, ate chicken wings. The story went that Utah left bits of chicken wings wherever she went. Woe on you if you found one in your house and tried to move it or, worse still, throw it in the bin. Utah was one of four known instaporters in the Universe and acknowledged as the best. With pinpoint precision, she would teleport right above you and was known for pulling off noses with her bare fingers. There wasn’t a prison that could hold her and even her Stephanie looked a little maniacal in her company.

As for Stax, it was said she’d lost her wits years ago. And yet, her legend was known by every child and tinybot out there. Known simply as the Crafter, it was said Stephenie Frey has chosen her to receive her earliest gift, that of creation itself. Yet now Stax spent almost all her time on her pogo stick, attempting to recreate the perfect double spin front ground touch reverse stall, first performed by handsome lothario JJP eons ago.

Tiny Tracy danced on her table. Today’s performance was meat related, as were all the others. Describing it would be inappropriate. Needless to say, the cow didn’t stand a chance. Another Daughter, she was as untouchable as the rest. And yet she longed to be touched. Anywhere. Especially there. Her AJK unit looked up at her longingly, wishing more than anything for human form as she leaned down and pressed for a cigarette, which of course it produced lit. With her first inhilation there was an audible sigh from the one who loved her more than any other. Not noticing, she continued to dance around the remains of the cow.

Behind the bar, the Dood stood watch. He was a relic really, a throw-back to a time long gone before the installation of Thoughtdrives in every restaurant and bar. Everything was managed by a centralised client relationship software. The orders were taken by thought, the customers’ accounts were charged immediately. The Dood was there because he knew nothing else and because he dreamed of the day the Thoughtdrive in the bar would malfunction. A keen sportsman, he had recently been spending a lot of time at the gym, leading to an overcut physique. Pictures had appeared in the papers a few weeks back of some drunk who had sliced his arm off on The Dood’s left tricep. Needless to say, his Stephenie wore wire mesh at all times.

The Bar itself was owned by Jimmeny Chin. Artist, rapper, pro RocketBoarder, koala bear breeder. Adopted by the Chin family when he was just a baby, he had spent his early years directing appalling Asian movies and the occasional pop video. But ever since Stax Hanso had crafted his paint brush from the nasal hairs of his first ever bear, everything he now touched turned to pink fire. Apparently they were once lovers, Stax was said to have offered Chin his paintbrush on one knee. But the power of the brush had been too strong and their once unique love has fizzled out in a haze of hip hop and pogo sticks.

In the lap of his giant stuffed koala, Chin sat at the far end of the bar, turning his brush around in his hands absently, his thoughts focussed on finding a list of words to rhyme with Jax. Increasingly annoyed at himself for repeatedly thinking “Stax”, he stared meanly at his Stephenie, who in turn sat across from him, one eye closed, silently squishing his head between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

Dynomax projected each of them on the wall before StrongArm as he shifted uncomfortably on the ball.

“So it’s one of them?” Strong asked.

“Yep”, Dynomax’s voice was low, filled with a humour that always drove Strong to the edge, “and you know you’re buggered if it’s one of the clones. I’d let it go if I were you Strong, but now that I’ve said that I know you won’t.”

Strong sighed. “You could just tell me and save us both a lot of trouble.”

“I could… but I need something interesting to watch.”

“Cunt.” Strong hissed as he nodded at his Stephenie to leave. This was going to be a needlessly long day. At least he had that bath to look forward to later.