Free The Cypher by Julian Rosado-Machain Page A

lamppost and jumped on the hood of the car, cracking the windshield.
    “Grab the light-rifle, sir,” Bolswaithe said as he swerved the car left and right, trying to shake the troll off. Thomas reached for the light-rifle, but he was tumbling inside the limo.
    The troll struck repeatedly at the armored windshield. It had stopped the troll from getting inside, but chunks of glass were torn with each strike. With one punch, the troll managed to get one of its claws inside the windshield.
    “The light-rifle?” the butler calmly asked again as they turned the corner of the mansion.
    Thomas finally managed to grab the oversized flashlight and aimed it at the troll. He turned it on but the monster seemed unaffected by the greenish light. Half of the troll’s body was inside the car and a scaly hand reached for Thomas.
    “Turn the side dial, sir.” Bolswaithe used his right hand to grab the monster’s neck while steering the car with his left. The troll bit Bolswaithe’s arm, and a dark oily substance splashed all over the inside of the limo.
    As he fiddled with the dial, Thomas watched in horror as the troll impaled the butler through the chest. The monster’s claws went right through the back of the driver’s seat. The limo swerved erratically.
    Thomas frantically turned the knob on the light-rifle, flashing different colors in the troll’s hungry eyes. Finally, a yellowish light hurt the troll, and it shrieked in pain as his face began to disintegrate. The skin burned off and peeled like burning paper. A line of red-hot ember spread out from the face, consuming everything as it progressed through the body of the troll. The bone beneath became charred like coal and then exploded into a cloud of sulfur-like ash and dust and hit Thomas, choking him. As the troll continued to disintegrate inside the limo, he saw the ember line going through the arm, ending on the claws which had impaled the butler.
    Thomas braced himself as the driverless limo crashed against the brick wall just outside of the mansion. He hit hard against the front seat, vaguely aware of guardian gargoyles forming a protective ring around the wreckage.
    The last Thomas heard before fainting was Bolswaithe’s voice.
    “Are you all right, sir?” he asked over and over again.

A History Lesson

    Thomas opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed. His head pounded, his body ached. What had happened? And then he remembered. Machines monitoring his health beeped.
    “Are you all right, sir?” Bolswaithe was sitting beside the bed with his arms on his lap impassively looking at Thomas.
    “You’re okay!” Thomas sat up amazed to see the butler alive and well. “I thought you were dead! I thought the troll had killed you!”
    The room’s sliding door opened and Doctor Franco came in. He was wearing a long lab coat and a surgeon cap; the paisley cravat was still around his neck and the monocle hung loosely from its chain. He was carrying a long pink tube, which he handed over to the butler.
    “Bolswaithe can’t die, Thomas,” the Doctor said. “Although, he was pretty banged up.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Bolswaithe grabbed the pink tube and slid it into the right sleeve of his suit. There was a mechanical click, and then he pulled out his right hand from his pocket and attached it to the tip of his new forearm. He then tested the finger and wrist movements.
    “Our design, Japanese parts, American assembly. We think the market will be ready for introduction around 2037,” the Doctor said,“but we are retro-fitting Bolswaithe with a tougher frame.”
    Bolswaithe nodded.
    “He’s a robot?” Thomas stared at Bolswaithe. The butler seemed completely life–like, down to the hair and the wrinkles and imperfections on the skin of his face. The tube the doctor had handed him was almost featureless, but the hands looked real – nails, cuticles, even the veins under the skin and the wrinkles on the knuckles were perfectly tailored.
    “Not just a robot,”