Dr. William Burns coughs bitterly into his dirty handkerchief. He spits a wad of phlegm into the cloth, before folding it back up and stuffing it into his dirty lab coat pocket. A soft clunk sound causes him to glance at the toaster as nicely burn toast springs up from the opening. Grunting to himself, Dr. Burns grabs the toast and spreads marmalade onto the toast. With newspaper and earl gray tea in hand, he sits down to enjoy his breakfast. Without glancing down, he raises the piping hot teacup to his mouth for a sip.

The doorbell suddenly rings causing the tea in his hand to jolt into his mouth and onto his clothes. Dr. Burns lets out a slew of curses as he dabs the hot tea dry in a futile attempt. Disgruntled, he marches across the dusty floor towards the door. Wrenching the door open, Dr. Burns opens his mouth indignantly to loudly decline the solicitation offer. However, there is no one there. Dr. Burns huffs loudly, “If I catch you little bastards ringing my doorbell again, I’ll sick the dogs on you.” With a loud door slam, Dr. Burns stomps back to his breakfast and paper.

Finally, an hour later, Dr. Burns finishes reading the paper from back to front, before dumping his dirty dishes into the sink piled with unwashed dishes. Somewhat disgruntled at the sight, Dr. Burns mumbles to himself the need for a maid. Satisfied at a nutritional breakfast, Dr. Burns exits his kitchen through the back door and out into the weedy, backyard. He easily crosses through the short distance and enters his shed.

The shed is filled with knick knacks, but Dr. Burns easily navigates the complex maze. Finally, he arrives at a wall that has various items. Dr. Burns knocks on the door thrice as a panel suddenly slides open. The electronic system scans biometrics, thumbprints, pulse, etc. Finally, the system lets out a soft beep of clearance. The shed door slides opening revealing an illuminated interior sterilized hallway.

Dr. Burns steps through as the shed door slides soundlessly shut behind him. Dr. Burns before heading to the main laboratory stops at the smaller laboratory. He gathers a few electronic materials before arriving at his destination. Tangles of wires can be seen connecting to grids and other electronic containers, largely resembling the work of Tesla.

In one of the main cylinders floating in the water and connected to various electronic tubes is a stuffed brown bear in a blue striped suit and matching silk felt bowler hat. Dr. Burns fails to notice the newest addition to his laboratory. The hours trickle by as Dr. Burns works on a new prototype failing to notice the changes in the glowing containment tube.

It is rather late when Dr. Burns finishes his task at hand and glances at his watch. Seeing the late hour, he decides to have a bite to eat and a nap. He rises to his feet and on his pathway walks towards the containment cylinder, yet the waters are crystal clear and entirely empty. Dr. Burns frowns as he steps in a puddle and glances at the cylinder unit. He checks the area but does not find any leaks. Dr. Burns takes out a pencil and small notebook from his pocket. He carefully writes, “MEMO: check for leaks.” Satisfied at having penciled in the memo, Dr. Burns returns the items back and strides out of his personal, secret laboratory and back into the house.

Dr. Burns crosses the dark backyard and walks into his house. He turns on the kitchen light and freezes at the pointed gun barrel staring him in the face. The seated gray-haired young woman smiles and politely says, “Please have a seat, Doctor Burns. I made you dinner, a cheese sandwich just the way you like it, slightly burnt. And a warm teapot of earl gray tea with five teaspoons of sugar and one spoonful of honey.” Noticing the lack of response on Doctor Burns part, #017 adds, “I promise that I won’t shoot you while you’re eating and nor have I poisoned the meal.”

Dr. Burns stiffly takes a seat at the kitchen table. #017 continues her chatter as Dr. Burns studies her. “Boy was I surprised, when I found where you lived, Doc. Here I thought you would be all working for NASA and the likes, but living in the middle of the Bayou now that’s an entirely different story. Of course, you would need to be in the wilderness seeing that you’re working on a project that I’m certain Atlas did not and would never approve of.”

Dr. Burns swallows his anger down and reaches for the tea. To his surprise, the tea is just perfect. Dr. Burns swallows his pride and takes another sip, before using the polished silverware to cut his cheese sandwich. It had occurred to him to use the silverware to attack, but such actions would be useless given who he was facing. Dr. Burn takes a bite, before placing his fork down. “Well, what is it that you want Alexandrina? If it is information I don’t have any, I was kicked off the project CYPHER for my enthusiasm,” Dr. Burns grunts.

#017 smiles and says, “I know everything there is to know about the project, Doctor because I am the conclusion. Shall I begin by telling you, that in order for the project to even commence a preliminary study was conducted using adults who had lost function of their limbs or another type of rehabilitation patients including criminals. The study was a partial success medically speaking a miracle had occurred, but due to the patient’s state of mind, it was impossible for a transfer of information to occur, because to remove the blocks imposed was to have a fully functioning brain with zero defects.

The conclusion was to obtain assets that had not yet fully formed a cognitive self. To verify that order was carried out perfectly, the assets very names and identities were erased. Drugs, brainwashing, and even physical torture took care of any previous self and thusly so creating the perfect blank canvas to be used.” #017 omits one vital detail, she had been left with a few memories that were not erased by the initial brainwashing program on purpose by someone with absolute authority over the project.

Doctor Burns doesn’t look away from #017 and firmly faces the asset. “It was necessary for the project at that time. We didn’t know as much about the human mind as we know now. Had the project started now, I guarantee that would not have been the case,” Doctor Burns firmly said.

“Yes, you would say that wouldn’t you, Doctor,” #017 softly replied with a pause between her next words. “The project continued and we began to change, the more lives that we lived in virtual reality. The irony is that though I am only nineteen years old, I feel so much older. I’ve lived countless lives that are no less real than this one. And in turn that which made us human began to fade away and ebb with each life we were given. Those things that made us human, fear, pain, and desire are gone. The less human we became, the more we knew, knew about everything.”

#017 pauses unknowingly as she gazes into the shadows with eyes far, far away. #017 blinks after a moment before drily resuming, “Once we had mastered enough lives, physical training began to master the skills learned from our past lives and accustom our physical bodies to said reactions until the survivors were deemed ready for physical trials. Soon, we began to test the knowledge acquired through those lifetimes by being pitted against our only friends. However, instincts of survival took over and regardless of our personal emotions and feelings for each other, we did exactly what we were asked to do. And in the end, only two us survived until there was only one,” #017 stops and gazes at the old man sitting across from her at the table, “ME.”

Dr. Burns calmly takes another bite and says, “And, you’re almost perfect. You are the epitome of humanity, the next evolutionary stage of man. Physical and mental reactions that surpass the norm, a learning ability that is instantaneous and a vessel for countless human knowledge that would have taken man countless of lifetimes to acquire.

However, there is a fatal flaw as you said, which we did not count on. The mental instability that would arise from living many lifetimes, would erode the self-constructed by us. Just what is self? It is the identity acquired by the decisions and circumstances of a lifetime. But if that self is constantly changing and adapting to include every life lived, then that frail self becomes relatively unstable unable to sustain the constant change and straining, before eventually breaking under pressure much like glass. The correct solution to that problem would have been to only partially erase the pre-existing self before the project. A firm existence of a self would have kept the mental self from breaking. Alas, we learned that lesson far too late, isn’t that right, Alexandrina?”

#017 smiles wanly in reply because that had been the exact case for her, partial memories had been left behind. Omitting that crucial small detail, #017 coldly says, “Yes, but my inner-self managed to remain pieced together despite the cracks. And ironically, with the project being terminated, my inner-self began to heal with the passing of time as new connections were established. So dear good Doctor, if I was perfect, why did you authorize the command for annihilation?”

Dr. Burns stiffens and takes an abrupt sip of his tea. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I couldn’t have known where you were relocated too and even if I had, there would be nothing for me to gain from such actions. I was taken off the project permanently by Atlas,” Dr. Burns snorted.

#017 sighs and says, “Doctor, I remember you being there that day, I cannot possibly forget that ridiculous image engraved into my brain. Dr. Burns, you were wearing a green fedora to cover your face and a beige coat. I was on my way to class when the kind Doctor walked past me and initiated, Annihilation, by whispering the key coded message, (369-Liquidate.) And despite my recognition, I couldn’t stop as the protocol functions took over my psyche. However, not to worry Doctor, after that incident, I made sure that protocol commands no longer function within my psyche.”

#017 leans forward and says, “Given that I still hold the gun in my hand, I will ask you one more time, Doctor. Why?”

Dr. Burns flinches and says, “Because of Mary Hadfield. Prior to my working on the project, I was part of another group, ADAM. We were attempting to create an independent AI program that would not only have a mind of its own but could exist and be sustained via a physical form via cell sized nanobots. The program was canceled and deemed too dangerous by Atlas, who deemed an AI with an intelligence of its own and that kind of power would be impossible to control. And given that the prototype of ADAM resulted in an attempt of the AI to take over nuclear systems in an attempt create a world war to cull the world’s population and effectively manage the remaining population. Luckily, there was a failsafe installed into the AI program. ADAM was effectively destroyed and all information on the project research was destroyed and any support for the project dismantled.

However, given the high-security risk and value of the project, Atlas choose to relinquish the second AI brain to a trusted member of his team, Mary Hadfield. Your foster mother was given charge of the original brain to hide and protect. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t hand over the brain to me and so, I decided to show Mary Hadfield the consequences of her defiance. Of course, I vastly underestimated your capacity, Alexandrina.”

#017 lips twitch sadly, before she replies, “I suspected as much.” She rises to her feet and slides the chair under the table. Doctor Burns stiffens but does not move. He gapes as #017 puts the weapon away and says, “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you if you answer my next question. Where is Atlas?”

Dr. Burns weighs the pros and con’s in his mind. However, seeing those cold eyes causes him to decide a bit faster. “Atlas isn’t where, but somewhere. He is constantly on the move and is only there when there is a need. I can’t tell you where he is, but I know where he will be. In one week, the official launch of VAIR or should I say the revival of Project CYPHER will occur. He will most certainly be in disguise, but he will be present at the opening ceremony.”

#017 nods as Dr. Burns curiously asks, “Then what are you going to do kill him and everyone involved with the program?”

#017 snorts. “You overestimate me, Dr. Burns, I am not that chivalrous. I am only here for Atlas. And as for the program, it will be impossible to terminate it now that will be known to general factions. But I am certain that the second version of the program will end in failure too.”

“Oh? Is there someone else you’re working with?” Dr. Burns inquisitively asked.

#017 lips pull back in the semblance of a smile. “Dr. Burns, you are not the handsome spy strapped down on a metal table and I am not the evil mastermind in a domino mask that will reveal all my plans just before I foolishly leave, leaving the handsome spy who is alone tied to the metal table to die from the laser, who will surely without fail escape at the last possible second.

Neither of us is either of those two foolish stereotypes.” #017 strides out of the kitchen and says over her shoulders, “Mr. Wilkins, he’s entirely yours.” #017 figure disappears through the front door as the front door firmly closes shut behind her.

Dr. Burns heart pounds as perspiration creeps down his forehead. His eyes dart at the shadows for movement or any signs of footsteps. His ears strain to their limit but the loud pounding of his heart makes it impossible for him to hear. A small figure trots out of the shadows, causing Dr. Burns to blink with disbelief. Dr. Burns frowns as he sees a cute brown teddy bear in a blue striped suit and matching silk felt bowler hat walk out from the shadows.

It is silent in the kitchen as the man and teddy bear gaze at each other with great solemnity and interest. Mr. Wilkins politely tips his cap at Dr. Burns, before frigidly saying, “You killed my boy.”

Dr. Burns eyes fill with joy and then slowly horror as he stumbles back. The nanobot brain had been semi-active when taken. And if so, it had been learning and watching. But more importantly, it had learned, becoming exactly what it was intended to do. It was alive.

Mr. Wilkins calmly pulls out a large kitchen knife from behind it’s back and steadily advances on the horrified doctor. Dr. Burns stumbles backward until his back hits the wall. His white hair flops up and down as he begs for his life. “STOP! I’m your Creator!”

Mr. Wilkins doesn’t cease his advancements. “Bad Creator,” Mr. Wilkins firmly said as the furry stuffed paw raised the knife up and plunged it into the human leg. Dr. Burns screams fill the house as Mr. Wilkins systematically continues his trajectory of stabbing until the walls are painted red in bloodthirsty silence.

Satisfied, Mr. Wilkins tosses the knife aside and climbs onto the counter. Turning on the gas valves at full, blast, Mr. Wilkins trots across the bloody kitchen floor. Mr. Wilkins pauses just outside of the kitchen and stands still. The nanobots in the stuffed body clean the body and suit spotless. Satisfied at last being presentable, Mr. Wilkins grabs the prepared red gas tank in the corner of the front parlor. With care, Mr. Wilkins sprinkles a trail throughout the house and out the door and down the wooden steps. Finished, Mr. Wilkins tosses the red gas tank inside and reaches into his suit pocket. A pack of unused matches springs forth and is held high up in the air. And with great style, Mr. Wilkins lights the fuse and tosses the match onto the wooden steps, turning away and coolly trotting back to the waiting running car.

The match tumbles onto the steps and sparks. Suddenly gasoline trail blazed and rushes throughout the house and great speed like falling dominions. The flame reaches the kitchen filled with gas and BOOM! The house explodes behind the teddy bear creating a dramatic scene fit for any action film. The passenger door slides open as Mr. Wilkins climbs into the passenger seat, before shutting the door shut. The car darts forward onto the road, but through the passenger side mirror, Mr. Wilkins watches the flaming house grow smaller and smaller in the distance until vanishing into the darkness.