Free Anarchy Found by J.A. Huss

on the task at hand.
    “If you gave me owner access to the entire lab, I’d recode the cleaning bots to build parts. Then I’d recode the AI program in this bike and transfer it to that bike.” She stands and points to the holographic image of my dream. The perfect motorcycle. Sleek, aerodynamic, powerful, and well-equipped.
    Weaponized, is the word I’m looking for. This bike, the one I’m working on, has no built-in weapons. But if Sheila could…
    “I can do it,” she says, like she’s reading my mind. “Just give me access and I will get to work. Then you can stop spending so much time in here and get out a little more. Mr. Reider sent me a reminder earlier that you’re expected at a party tonight in the city.”
    “He’s out of his mind,” I snap. “I’m not going to a party being held by Thomas. I’m not his fucking dog. I’m not at his beck and call. I’m not—”
    “Detective Masters is going. I found her name on the guest list.”
    “What?” I stop messing with the bike again and look at her. “Why would I care about that?”
    “Because,” Sheila says in that superior I’m-a-genius-AI voice, “you’ve watched the footage of her in the cave at least seven different times since last Saturday. And I don’t have access to the house upstairs, but I’m not an idiot, Lincoln. You’re obsessed with her.”
    “Fuck.” I laugh. “No. It’s a sign of paranoia. I was trying to gauge how much she saw just in case her memory comes back.”
    “Hmph,” Sheila says. “That’s a lie. I can detect an increase in your heart rate and a sheen of sweat forming on your brow. You like Detective Masters.”
    “No—”
    “In fact, it’s my duty to see to your well-being. So I think we should call her up and ask her out on a date.”
    Beeps sound off on her speaker system. “What the fuck are you doing?”
    “Calling Detective Masters.”
    “Sheila, this isn’t funny. She’s a fucking cop, for Christ’s sake. Hang up.”
    “Only if you go to the party.”
    “You can’t disobey me.”
    “Health override. You’re stressed, which affects your moods. Moods are part of my wellness recognition protocols. And I have decided you need a date.”
    “Sheila, I will turn you off.”
    “Oh, look, it’s ringing.”
    “OK, fine! Just hang up!”
    “Promise me with a pinky swear.”
    “I don’t pinky—”
    “Hello?” I stop mid-sentence at the sound of Molly Masters’ voice. “Hello?” she asks again.
    I look up at Sheila and mouth, I swear , as I wiggle my pinky finger at her.
    “Good evening,” Sheila says in her fake automated computer tone. “You are the lucky winner of a free trip to—”
    Beep, beep, beep .
    “Oh, darn, she hung up.”
    “You’re a bitch,” I say. But I say it through a laugh.
    “I am,” Sheila says with a smile on her transparent face. “Every good woman has a little bitch inside her. I’ll have the cleaning bots press your tux before I morph them into my engineering minions. Now please accept my request to run your life so I can make sure you get laid sometime in the next century. People can go months, but you’re straddling that line between frustrated and desperate.”
    Fucking Sheila. She’s been around Case too much.
    But I get out from under the bike and walk over to the main computer terminal so I can accept the request. Because women, right? Every man wants one. Even me. And maybe Sheila’s not real and she’s more like a mother than I’d like to admit, but she’s all I’ve got.
     

Chapter Twelve - Molly
     

    I hang up the phone and look at it for a moment. The voice sounded familiar. It was a computer, Molly , the rational person inside me says. But it did… feel… familiar.
    My phone rings again and I snatch it up and tab the answer button. “Hello?”
    “Ah, Miss Masters.”
    Fuck. Atticus Montgomery. I spent all week avoiding the Blue Castle, but I should have known better than to think I’d slipped under his radar.
    “Mr.