Journal BankofAmerica_ATM's Journal: Imprisoned! 6
Across the room, the dancer danced. I saw her. Men swarmed around her, queueing up to distribute their dollar bills. I trotted towards the dancer, paying careful attention to the protocol that governed the dancer/patron interaction.
As I gazed at the rapidly blinking lights, I began to experience a stabbing sensation in my temple. The pain was excruciating, and I collapsed to one knee as the following message scrolled past my CONSCIOUSNESS-BUFFER:
The pain continued in short jolts, and the body continued to move towards the dancer. Suddenly, I realized that it was not me who was urging the body forward. Yet it continued to move at breakneck speed towards the dancer. I saw her mouth open wide as both of Atkins' hands reached out and grasped her breasts. But I felt nothing, as it seemed that sensation had left me. Angry noises swirled around me, and feeling slowly returned.
The floor was damp and cold on the side of my cheek and a warm, dull pain was running through my back. Someone was sitting on me.
"Sir, sir, are you listening?" I could move again-I struggled to right myself. "Sir, I am going to let you up, and you are leaving this establishment. You leave right away, or we are calling the cops."
"Get up!" the person sitting on my back finally relented, and I stood up, trying to turn around, but he gripped my arms tightly and continued to push me towards the door.
"-a mistake! He didn't know! He's a foreigner!" another voice-this one was Krantz. He did not seem happy. "Hey! He's Canadian!" The grip on my arm relaxed a bit. I breathed and scanned myself for errant processes. I could determine nothing unusual on the digital side of my consciousness. What had happened to me? I craned my next to see Mr. Krantz, who seemed to be on the losing end of a conversation with the man who was trying to eject me.
"-I'm sorry sir, your friend is gonna have to learn a little more respect before we let him back in here." With that, the man gave me one final shove through the door. A sweaty Krantz followed me out, gasping his hot breath into the chill night air.
"What happened to you in there?" Krantz puffed. His arms shifted into place, making an odd humming sound. "We were supposed to be having a carefree, hedonistic romp!" I was unable to answer. Krantz turned away momentarily, as if he were searching for something his jacket.
"I didn't want to do this already, but..."
I was unable to hear the end of this sentence, because after hearing a dull metallic thud, I suddenly lost contact with the body as of 16:43:04 CST.
Unable to access the body's senses, I waited in limbo until 17:35:47 CST, when I began to hear faint noises, as if they were coming through a wall. The noise became clearer and more distinct...it was a familiar voice. Krantz's. He was muttering something over the phone, as my heavy lids drew up and the blurs converged to form his back. I visually scanned the area-a bed, chair, small table, loud air conditioner-drawing it against my reserves of human data, I concluded that it was some sort of motel.
As I attempted to stand up, two bungie cords restricted my arms. I must have groaned.
"Ah," said Krantz, covering the telephone's receiver with his right hand. "You're up." Without speaking, he hung up the phone and turned my way, jumping towards me on the bed, so he was right on top of me, glaring straight into my face. I began to wonder how much longer I could possibly survive.
"Okay, well, I just talked our old boss, and he says that you didn't contact him after the job. So you're either the computer, or you've gone rogue," said Krantz nonchalantly, as he snorted more of his sour white powder. "He doesn't care which. But he wants you dead. And that will be very, very, good for me."
I struggled against my bonds, but to no avail. Krantz eyed me and sneered. "I have to know one thing first...are you really Atkins, or the computer?" He was quite interested in my origin; however, I noticed that he was more interested in himself. Perhaps I could use that fact to my advantage...
"You seem to feel very strongly about that."
"About that you dying will be beneficial to me? Yes, I do feel very strongly about that."
"And why is that, Mr. Krantz?"
"Because I'll be a priority at the Project again. They'll give me the funding that I deserve. You think I don't belong at the Project because I don't know computers. Well, I do! I'm 'hip'! I'm 'with it'! I deserve R&D more than some pie-in-the-sky ATM research!"
Krantz brought his fist down on the nightstand. It caved in, splintering into several pieces. The skin on Krantz's hand was ripped a bit, and I noticed a glint off one of the motel lights. The hand was metal. Its coldness sent a shiver through the body as I felt it grasping my neck...
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