Flash In The Pan - 2. Looking through glass

Prompt 511

The neighborhood has gone strangely quiet since the new neighbors moved in down the street. Even the nosey lady across the street has stopped talking and seems to keep her blinds closed now. You have no idea why everyone is acting so odd ‘til you meet the neighbors child. What is so odd about this child?

“Turn up the density on the outside feed.”

He was intrigued by something which had caught his eye.

What was going on?

Something strange was happening outside in the street but no way was he going outside himself or even going to the window. He continued watching the feed, now in its full 3D glory.

This time on a Sunday afternoon, the street was usually quite a hive of activity: gardening, home improvements, vehicle maintenance …

Why the fuck did people insist on doing things which could be done so much better by synths?

… but today the street was virtually deserted, eerily quiet and still. There'd been people out earlier, but then they'd suddenly melted away, back indoors. As far as he could tell, the only possible cause was the appearance of one solitary, young girl aged nine or ten?

What the fuck?

He recognised the girl. She and her dad (or was it, dads?) had only arrived in the neighbourhood quite recently. They'd moved into a house a little further up the street, on the opposite side. Despite his best endeavours, he hadn't been able to find out anything about them.

That in itself was suspicious.


Ever since his release from prison, David Saunders had remained acutely aware of who was around him. He knew that the synth freaks were out to get him.

Well, sod them!

He'd moved to another part of the country and slotted himself into a humdrum, busy, suburban neighbourhood. His fictitious, continuous feed showed an older man, chronically ill, being looked after by three Filipino nurses.

Well, that last bit was true, at least!

He was very well 'looked after' by the 'nurses' who were, of course, male synths. He smirked to himself.

Just let them try. He was very nicely, securely, set up here, thanks.

Suddenly, his attention snapped back to the present. Something had snagged his attention but as he stared at the images, he was disappointed that nothing much seemed to be happening. The girl was standing outside one particular house …

What was that?

“Close in on number 29.”

Maybe she'd got control of the house? Or perhaps she was watching someone else being in control? Either way, the house was starting to provide a sort of hypnotic street theatre. All the doors, windows, and curtains were opening and closing, the lighting and sound systems turning on and off, and the family's external feed was playing across the front of the house. Although it looked random, he suspected that there was a complex sequence behind it.

Bloody kids! Didn't the parents know what their brats were getting up to? Maybe they did and couldn't give a shit?

Right. He'd better check his defences. It looked harmless enough. The idiots who lived there had probably left the password set at 0000. People like that deserved whatever shit came their way. … Did it affect the synths?

Now there was a question.


He'd been banned from having synths because of his criminal conviction.

Didn't make any bloody difference.

He'd widened his acquaintance considerably while inside so once he'd been released, he'd just logged onto a private, illegal website and spent rather a large percentage of his bitcoin hoard. A few days later, he'd taken delivery of three Filipino synths hidden in boxes of medical supplies. They were designed for the Arab market but that didn't matter.

Now, he was awaiting delivery of another two synths, Thai this time. He was looking forward to starting his new business. This was yet another thing he was banned from doing. Discreet, clandestine even, expensive and again, illegal, he expected his gay brothel to be a successful, money making operation.

Only downside was, it gave the synth freaks another reason to want his hide. They regarded what he was doing as trafficking, forcing individuals to take part in paid-for sex.

They were machines, machines. Idiots! They'd be putting them on the same level as humans at this rate.

His new acquaintances had also improved his programming skills, no end. Hence the fully functional, dummy feed and the vastly improved (but hidden) defences. It still rankled him that a bunch of bloody hackers were the cause of his stay at Her Majesty's pleasure.

The only thing he couldn't be sure about was the verimeter. They'd come and decommissioned it when he'd moved in but, even though he'd watched them carefully, he just wasn't sure.

You couldn't be too careful.


Over the next few days, he watched the pantomime being played out in several different houses.

Why didn't somebody stop the obnoxious brat? There she was again … Did everybody, apart from him, leave their passwords at the factory setting?

This time, just as the young girl looked ready to start the fun and games, her dad appeared.

That was new.

He strode down the street and made a considerable show of grabbing his daughter and pulling her away, back to their house.

About time too. Hope she's punished.

The next day and the next, nothing out of the ordinary happened. He found this disconcerting. He thought the girl wouldn't just give up on the strength of one telling off.

Hmmm.

“Synth Angelo, come here!”

The synth arrived.

“Yes, Daddy?”

They (and the house) all addressed him as 'Daddy'. Nothing cosy or familial about it. Rather, an acknowledgement that he was always, indisputably, in charge.

“Look out the window and tell me what's going on.”

The synth moved and looked out onto the street.

“Nothing, Daddy.”

“Something must be happening?”

“Nothing, Daddy.”

Hmmm. Maybe it was a problem with the language pack. He wasn't sure about the answer although the street did look very quiet and still.

Peace at last?


The synth remained in the room. He was imagining what he'd like to do it. The additional patches and other programs had improved greatly during the time he was inside. The embellishments (he liked that word) had become much more lifelike.

“Come here, synth Angelo. I want you to …”

The house burped.

… ?!

“Sorry, Daddy!”

“And so you fucking should be. System analysis, now!”

There was a brief period of silence. An automated response started …

“The system analysis showed …”

“I drank my cola too quickly, Daddy. I know I shouldn't do that.”

What the fuck was going on?

David Saunders had a growing feeling that his universe was moving out of kilter with reality and he didn't know that he could stop it.

Could it possibily be that wretched girl?

“Synth Angelo. Is there a girl standing in the street outside?”

He didn't know whether he could trust the feed any longer.

“No, Daddy.”

“Tell me about any humans you see outside.”

The synth moved away from the window …

“That is an order!”

… and turned towards him.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.”

He gaped.

Was that even English?

“Synth Angelo. Shut down. Immediate shutdown!”

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and …”

He finally managed to find the off switch.


He could feel his heart racing and the sweat was starting to drip off him. He lurched over to the window and peered outside, using the curtain as cover. It looked quiet enough, but was that even fucking real?

He noticed the sun's position.

It was way past midday. Shouldn't the sun be on the way back down or something … ?

The natural world wasn't David Saunders' favourite milieu.

He tried speaking to the house again. He hoped against hope that it might have all been a temporary glitch.

“Report your system status.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

An automated voice started …

“Status is …”

“Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.”

He was still trying to make sense of that, when the two other synths came into the room, uninvited and dancing. The house immediately started playing 'Here we go round the mulberry bush' and the synths joined in by singing while they were dancing. On the surface, their dancing looked wild but it appeared that there was a purpose.

David Saunders stood, frozen with indecision. He couldn't decide whether to tackle the synths first or investigate the unmistakeable sounds of an advancing mob, out in the street.

What he didn't know was that all his private, synth-sex vids were playing in glorious, incriminating 3D in the street. A bottle and half-brick bounced off the defences.

He found that he was backing himself into a corner, shepherded by the galumphing synths.

Why him? It was all so bloody unfair. He would try one last thing. What was that phrase they used to say? … Come on, come on … Yes!

He breathed in deeply because he knew he'd have to yell to make himself heard.

“Control, alt, delete!”

Nothing happened.

“Control. Alt. Delete!”

The synths stopped dancing, at least. They stood still, hemming him in. One of them looked at him.

“I know what you're thinking about but it isn't so, nohow.”

The other one continued …

“Contrariwise, if it was so, it might be; and, if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't.”

David Saunders curled himself up in his corner and snivelled. Sirens were approaching the house.

Police? Please, god. Take me away, take me away!

The front door opened with a thud, followed by the tramp of heavy boots.

“David Saunders, we are arresting you …”

The house butted in …

“No, no! Sentence first – verdict afterwards.”


“That was a successful operation. Glad your daughter could help.”

“Just as well, really. She's way ahead of other kids her age. Imagine the trouble she could get into.”

“Well, yes. I suppose so. What's she called again?”

“Alice.”