Birth of Chaos (Age of Magic: Wish Quartet Book 3) Page 3

  These weren’t the sort of images the news played. These were the sort of images you found circulating in the dark web and then promptly wished you hadn’t. They were tagged neatly with file numbers and evidence serials. A few lines of clerical information written on a photograph had never contained so much.

  Still, Snow went on, enlarging one of the still-running videos.

  A newscaster spoke directly into the cameras. “Law enforcement officials now believe that the killer has connections to the Artificial Care Act movement. The latest calling card left by the Bone Carver contains the coordinates to one of N.A.I.S., Inc—”

  “What’s N.A.I.S., Inc?” Takako interjected. The video paused magically the second she spoke.

  “It stands for Northern Artificial Intelligence Solutions,” Jo answered. “I did a job for one of their competitors, once. Something about looking into a new project they had going . . . codename ‘Primus Sanguis.’”

  “Primus Sanguis . . . Latin. First Blood,” Eslar muttered before turning to her and saying, louder, “What does it mean?”

  Jo shrugged. “I try—tried—to make a point not to dig too deep into my clients’ affairs. The more I knew, the more danger I was in during work. And after.”

  “Who had you hack them?” Takako asked.

  “CBM.”

  “The computer chip server people?” Of course, Takako would recognize the company. She was from around fifty years ago. In a different reality, certainly, but it seemed that much was the same.

  “In my time, they’re one of the leaders in AI—” Jo quickly added, “Artificial Intelligence,” for any in the room who would, somehow, not know. “I can’t say I know the full details of what Primus Sanguis was . . . but I know CBM wanted it badly.”

  “How badly?” Wayne asked.

  “Bad enough that they cut me a check that paid my mother’s and my bills for a year.”

  Wayne whistled softly. “And this Artificial Care Act, dollface? Care to do more 2050s translating?”

  Jo turned back to the paused video grimly. “I only know the broad strokes . . . In the UNA, there’s been a debate on the actual rights androids should have. Some advocate that they are sentient creatures and should be granted the same rights and protections as humans. Others disagree.”

  “Give machines the same rights as humans?” Wayne scoffed at the notion and the sound grated Jo’s ears.

  “They’re not machines,” she corrected. “They’re thinking, living creatures. Most androids now are nearly one-hundred percent bio-mass—virtually indistinguishable from humans.”

  “Except for the cogs for brains,” Wayne said smartly.

  “Josephina’s right,” Samson interjected in his soft voice. The second Wayne’s eyes shot over to him, he sunk further into his chair. Jo was afraid he wouldn’t say anything further, but it seemed he could find the courage so long as he didn’t actually have to look at anyone. “They’re not cogs, or metal. . . as you know. They’re machines, yes, but their brains are biological supercomputers, in a way. . . It’s complicated.”

  “It is,” Jo attempted to both thank Samson for speaking up and encourage him to do so more by lavishing some quick praise. “Samson’s entirely correct.”

  “It sounds sideways,” Wayne muttered.

  Jo opened her mouth to retort, but Snow interrupted her.

  “There’s more to the video, and more relating to this wish.” He brought them back on track from the useless debate. It was a discussion Jo could have for days, especially if there was even the slightest chance it’d delay learning more about, and working on, the wish.

  The video sprang back to life with a nod from Snow, continuing where it left off. “—this calling card, combined with the others, has led law enforcement officials to believe that the Bone Carver is, in actuality, an android. However, the motives surrounding this suspicion remain unclear.

  “Republican groups have been quick to rally behind the investigation, saying that these killings will—and should—be considered on the eve of voting for the Artificial Care Act. Democrats have marked the Bone Carver as a lone wolf, arguing that, just as humans, there is the possibility for deranged individuals that are outliers from the norm in every species, but it is not grounds to withhold rights from an entire population. The senator from Pennsylvania—where the first murder was discovered—has declined to comment beyond expressing his condolences to the families and loved ones of those affected.”

  Snow straightened away from the table, and with that, the video feed sputtered and died. A few images remained, blatant depictions of what this Bone Carver had done, but for a moment, Snow held off on any further explanation. Despite herself, Jo raised a hand towards one of the images, a short, jagged-edged bone etched with a moniker that, considering the computer code, Jo felt like she should have been able to identify. But nothing came to mind outside of a reflexive roiling of her stomach.

  This wasn’t just murder. This was sport.

  Whoever was committing these murders had gruesomely ended the lives of twelve people, cut into their flesh, wrenched out their bones, cleaned them, prepared them, and then deposited them miles away from where the bodies were found with seemingly nonsensical coordinates carved into them that related tenuously enough it made you want to believe there was a pattern, but it was impossible to tell. It was brash. It was mocking. And it was utterly ruthless.

  There were no further interjections while Snow offered them as many details as he himself appeared privy to. Everyone was eerily still. Death lived all around them, in their wish, in their home. The only light at the end of this darkness was going to be actually helping someone—especially after their last failure. Whether they were willing to admit it or not, they wanted, needed Snow to lead them to that optimistic end to what seemed like an Edgar Allen Poe story on depressants.

  At least, that’s where Jo had assumed Snow was going with all this.

  “Our wish comes from the Bone Carver himself,” Snow bit out. “His request is to prevent any and all future possibilities of getting caught. The Severity of Exchange has a window of approximately two weeks.” When the words were met with stunned silence, Snow sighed, waving a hand in front of himself and ridding the space above the table of all remaining images. “In short, the wish is for him to continue murdering humans without repercussions. Indefinitely.”

  That finally managed to get a reaction. Or five.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “This is so wrong. This is so wrong.”

  “No. No, I won’t. I can’t. We can’t.”

  “You can’t expect us to actually do this, right Snow?”

  “We have no choice.”

  Everyone spoke atop each other in a frantic plea to be heard, though Jo could hardly register anything outside of the ringing in her ears. First Mt. Fuji and now this? What sort of twisted game was the universe playing at? To call it unfair was beyond hyperbole at this point.

  Eventually, it was Eslar’s voice that finally cut through the fray.

  “So this is how we should expect things to be run now, Snow? Impossible requests with even more impossible time limits?”

  In the tense quiet that followed Eslar’s question, everyone’s eyes shifted between the elf and the demigod. Snow didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. If Jo could see the shackles binding their leader to his reluctant affirmation, then she was certain everyone else could see them too. At least, she hoped they could. The last thing they needed was further fractures threatening to split them apart.

  “I could always just kill another one of you and call it a day,” Pan chimed in, the sing-song tone to her voice causing Jo’s hackles to rise instantly. When Jo wrenched her attention from Snow to the woman-child, it was to find her leaning back in her chair again, face the epitome of boredom. Somehow, she’d happened upon a nail file, choosing to carefully sculpt each neon pink nail rather than partake in the tumultuous conversation with even a modicum of interest.

  “No o
ne else is getting killed,” Jo hissed, biting back the shiver that ran down her spine when Pan’s eyes darted up from her nails, capturing Jo in a stare that could eat an entire soul if she wanted.

  “Except the innocent people we’re going to help this guy get away with killing,” Wayne mumbled, the bitterness in his voice shattering the beginning of whatever atmosphere had been radiating between Jo and Pan. Jo rubbed at her eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming; her hands were shaking.

  There were no stars popping into the darkness under the pressure of her fingers. Just darkness, darkness, and more darkness. Enough that it could consume her whole if she wasn’t careful.

  They were really doing this, weren’t they? Helping a serial killer avoid being brought to justice? And why? To avoid the possibility of their own demise should they fail or refuse?

  For another long moment, no one spoke, mulling over the information in their own ways. The silence stretched on long enough that it almost made Jo want to scream, but she had no desire to be the one to break it. Not if she had nothing of value to offer. Thankfully, Takako was the first to pick back up the conversation.

  “This . . . this killer. It’s an android, right?”

  “You are correct.” Snow nodded.

  “Can a robot even make a wish?” she asked. “I mean, isn’t that something that should be an exclusively human capability?”

  Jo frowned, picturing the various anti-Artificial Intelligence organizations that had been popping up ever since the first droids were legally allowed autonomy in the Lone Star Republic. Giving androids rights went over surprisingly easy in the LSR, especially considering the never-ending back and forth in the UNA. So, it didn’t affect her, but she generally supported the Artificial Care Act; if something has the ability to think for itself, it should be able to act for itself too and accept responsibilities and protections for those decisions as a whole person in the eyes of the law.

  “Like I said . . . it’s almost impossible to tell apart an android and a human nowadays,” Jo chimed in. “It would make sense that cognitive choice—free will—gives them the same power over a wishing circle as anyone else.”

  “Perhaps if we knew why this Bone Carver was making the wish—his motives behind his actions—it would be an easier pill to swallow?” Eslar offered, though he appeared about as convinced as everyone else. In fact, Wayne didn’t bother to hold back the irritated roll of his eyes.

  “What reasoning could possibly merit offing innocent people?”

  “Do . . . Do we know for sure that they’re innocent?” Samson’s question brought everyone up short.

  It didn’t seem worth considering: human lives were human lives regardless of situation. But Snow had never actually used the word “innocent”—Wayne had. Jo looked to Snow for clarification, and, despite the reasoning that a life was a life, she found herself hoping that maybe this would be something to cling to. Something, to quote Eslar, that might make this unforgivable task just a little bit easier to bear.

  Snow leaned forward, placing his hands on the table before him, not looking at anyone in particular. “I have given you all the information on the motives I have. The killings are, seemingly, random. But the police are looking for a connection and that will lead them to the killer, and you will need to thwart them before they find one.”

  Jo leaned back in her chair, worrying her bottom lip as she thought. They couldn’t be random killings, they just couldn’t be. To be broken so utterly that you would be driven to murder, driven to the brink of an abyss so inconceivable. . . there had to be a reason for it.

  Maybe this was an act of self-preservation? But then why leave such grotesque calling cards? Why hurt the Artificial Care Act by fueling the words of those who’d cast suspicion or doubt on it? The Bone Carver was clearly trying to send a message, but to whom? And if there was a pattern, would they be able to pinpoint who he might target next?

  Jo sighed. Even if they knew who the next target was, there was nothing they could do about it. Their services were promised to the killer, not the prey.

  “We need more data.” What she’d really wanted to say was, I don’t want to talk, or even think about this anymore. Not that she had a choice.

  “See, isn’t this far better than just my slaughtering one of you?” Pan proclaimed, jumping up from her own chair. “So much intrigue, so much excitement. I can’t wait to see what you lot come up with to lessen the Severity of Exchange in just two short weeks.” She gave a wave over her shoulder as she exited the room. “But do let me know if you decide to give up. I think I get to choose, this time.”

  Jo stared at the door, Pan’s words sitting uncomfortably low in her gut. If Pan wanted them to think that she was a prisoner like the rest of them, she was going about it in all the wrong ways. Because, at least to Jo’s ears, it almost sounded like the woman-child was eager for them to fail.

  Chapter 4

  Complicit Survival

  “Well, then,” Eslar said, standing and gaining control of the room. “I think we should plan our attack.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Snow said, now that his job was seemingly finished.

  “Why don’t you stay?” Jo suggested before she could second-guess herself. “And help us brainstorm?” It’s not like you have anywhere else to be, she wanted to add. Even if Jo understood, with stunning clarity after Nico, why he would not want to get closer to the members of the Society than was absolutely necessary, it didn’t mean she agreed with it.

  “I don’t think I would be much further help,” he wavered.

  “I don’t think you’ll stop anyone from saying what they want.” Jo motioned to the group, inviting someone to object. “Maybe you’ll help us in a way you don’t expect?”

  Uneasily, Snow sat back down in his chair. It was as if a switch had been flipped and without having information about a wish to impart to them, he had no purpose being in the room and thus had no idea what to do with himself.

  “Th-thank you for staying, Snow.” It was odd to hear Eslar stutter. But judging from his reaction, the oddest thing currently was Snow’s presence. Snow gave a nod, as if encouraging Eslar to continue as he always did—leading the group on the execution of the wish itself. “I think we should figure out our approach.”

  “You say that like we’re actually on board with this crock of —”

  “Wayne!” Eslar snapped, much more noticeably aggravated at the New Yorker’s pointless interjections this time. And much quicker than usual, too. “No one is happy about this situation,” Eslar went on after a moment of collecting himself, in which he gracefully (if not forcefully) sat himself down. Almost at once, Jo watched Samson reach out to grasp one of Eslar’s hands, the slightly lighter tone of his skin standing out against the rich darkness of Eslar’s.

  For some reason, Jo felt the need to look away.

  “Wayne’s not wrong.” Takako blessedly jumped in. “No one’s thrilled about any of this. Regardless of any personal beliefs towards the Artificial Care Act—or similar governances surrounding the rights of artificial intelligence, regardless if the victims are innocent or not, murder is still murder. There are no masked vigilantes, only criminals. We all know that. But all of that doesn’t change our assignment or our ability to opt out of it.”

  Little by little, everyone turned their attention towards Takako, willing and even forcing themselves to get into the mindset they’d come to associate with granting a wish. That didn’t mean the feeling lifted, though—the one where they all seemed to be walking a tandem tightrope; if any one of them shifted their weight too far, they’d break apart and tumble down to earth. And at least one of them would be certain not come out alive.

  “So where do we go from here?” Jo tried her best not to sound bitter and mostly succeeded, though she felt every ounce of that bitterness settle spoiled and churning in her stomach. “We just close our eyes and guarantee permanent sanctuary for a murderer? Let him live out the rest of his days happily carving p
eople up?”

  “Everyone dies eventually,” Eslar said, blunt and ruthless, and Jo’s stomach dropped.

  Still, she found herself biting back, “Except us, right?”

  “Well, that is our goal,” Eslar replied without skipping a beat, and Jo couldn’t help but startle at his lack of argument.

  “I think . . . I mean, what Eslar’s probably trying to say is that we’ve already done our duties as human beings. We’ve already paid the price of death in the ages we were born into and gave ourselves to a higher power. We’ve done all we can to help the world from here, everything and then some. We’ve stood by and witnessed as the world was wracked in horrors much worse than this.”

  “We’re complicit,” Takako whispered.

  “We’ve had to be,” Wayne insisted.

  Samson cringed at Wayne’s tone. Swallowed once, twice, as if trying to clear his mouth for the next words. He finally got there. “And this . . . this is all we have left. I-I know it’s selfish—” At this, he bowed his head, slouching back into insecure reservation. But his spine found the strength to form a straight line once more. “But haven’t we lost enough?”

  No one in the room seemed able to keep their eyes from drifting over to the empty chair at the table. Their crafter took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was raw and shaking. “Don’t you think we might have earned the right . . . to be a little bit selfish this time? To do this and not feel wretched about it for the sake of our own survival?”

  At first, the room as a whole seemed unsure how to respond, the weight of Samson’s words dragging a heaviness across their shoulders and keeping them pinned in place. Though there was no scolding, Jo couldn’t deny that she felt chastened nonetheless.