The wail of sirens went off behind him as he slammed out of the building, piercing the night sky with shrill and discordant notes. The noise echoed and bounced all around him, threatening to deafen him to the sound of his own heart beating in panic as he turned the corner and dashed down the alley to turn another.

Surrounding him on all sides giant skyscrapers loomed, stretching dauntlessly towards the sky, and what little clear space was left to peek between the buildings was covered by the omnipresent clouds. It left him near blind inside this jungle of concrete and metal, with barely a trace of faint moonlight trickling down to help guide his steps.

That didn’t bother him. It was his jungle after all, He’d been born and bred inside this city, and he knew nothing else. Despite the lack of vision his feet beat a sure and steady path against the ground as he dashed towards safety.

He knew this city and these roads like a baby knew milk, giving him time to assess his situation as his body ran on autopilot, leaping onto a dumpster and over a fence with practiced skill as he tried his damndest to outrun the incriminating noise that sounded no quieter for all the distance he’d managed to put between them.

Something went wrong. He thought as he tried to slow his racing thoughts. Nothing new. Something always goes wrong. It was true. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a run and it had gone smoothly.

He shook the thoughts clear as he continued his relentless run towards freedom. He avoided the main streets as he ran, at most darting across one to the dark alley on the other side. They had eyes everywhere, and the last thing he needed was to be seen running as though his life depended on it.

Not much further, just two more blocks to the old Mccaw station. Two more to freedom. It didn’t matter how many times things managed to go to shit, it wouldn’t stop him. He’d try again and again to pull them down.

Besides even this part isn’t so bad. He thought, gripping tight to what he’d come for. He never felt more alive than when the adrenaline came hot and heavy, when his body sped up and his thoughts ran away.

Why do they even have streets anymore? It’s not like anyone’s using them. The streets shined even in the faint light, as clean and clear as always. The people who’d accepted their subjugation, their… slavery, had all their needs delivered to them, without the hassle of ever leaving home. If for whatever reason one needed to leave home, they had to simply let it be known and a machine would be there in under a minute ready to deliver them to their heart's desire.

It was unsettling, the pervasive manner in which the overlords had insinuated themselves into daily existence. They were there every moment, aware, watching, listening. For one who accepted it, it was a life of constant ease, with every need satisfied, and emergencies extinguished before one knew there was an emergency.

Almost there. If he kept straight and took the next left he’d find the subway at the end of the block. The entrance to the underground would be unlit at this time of night, appearing as a small cavern that led ominously into the dark, practically promising danger and things unknown. For him it promised freedom, or at least the appearance of such. Which was the reason he turned into the alley that nestled between the two buildings that loomed, quiet and constrictive, right beside him.

All the subway entrances had been trapped and were actively watched. It’d begun once the overlords had figured out the underground was where the resistance against them gathered and conspired. Not that the knowledge had been of any use to them of course.

From the beginning the resistance had never used the obvious entrances. The city had been built on the ruins of one older, which had been built on the ruins of one far older, which made the underground a veritable maze twice the size of the cities streets with an untold amount of paths in and out.

Although he didn’t doubt the Overlords could have flushed them out if they’d wanted to, for all the twisting turns, dead ends and secret passages that riddled the underworld. For whatever reason they’d been left in peace, although the favor hadn’t been returned. He guessed they’d run an algorithm and figured out that whatever negative effect he and the rest had, and whatever damage they caused, simply wasn’t worth the cost or hassle of organizing a party to sweep them out.

The sirens abruptly cut off, causing him to heave a sigh of relief. He let his pace slow down, no longer in a mad dash now that he could hear every footstep echoing loud and clear around him. Besides, he was almost there, mere steps from freedom, for all of the massive wall that blocked his path. The alley he’d turned down led right to a dead end, and if he didn’t know better he’d be panicking about having such an obstruction when he was trying to flee as fast as possible.

He did know better however, and paused at the end of the alley, turning to face the way he’d come to see if anything had followed him. Thankfully it was all clear. It would be better to be caught now than to give away all their secrets. Not that this is much of a secret. He thought as he stared down at the round piece of metal that lay almost indistinguishable from the surrounding street.

A simple sewer grate, and once he got in it would be child’s play to find his way through the underground. After all, this is MY city. He thought as he furrowed his brows, glancing once more down the alley for any sign of the occupiers who’d since staked claim. They would never be able to catch him, not as long as he called this place home. They didn’t have the balls, the gumption, or the intellect. Or the processing power, he thought grimly.

He reached down one hand and grabbed the manhole with surety. He came to seconds later, flat on his back, with his teeth clenched and his hair on end, watching with dazed eyes the little sparks of electricity that still danced over him.

“What…” He said slowly, trying to piece his wandering thoughts back together. “What the hell just happened?” These words came out slightly less slurred, as he placed a hand on the ground to push himself upright.

“A Mild electric shock, coming from a device running a steady current through the manhole.” An androgynous voice informed him helpfully, before continuing. “ After noticing many heat signatures leaving the alley without having entered, and many entering without leaving, we decided to explore the reasoning that could lead to such a situation.”

His heart froze, and his hands started shaking, causing him to clench his fist in an effort to hide his tremors. With a show of will he slowly turned his head to catch a glimpse of his speaker. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as his vision encompassed the floating metallic orb.

It floated there serenely, although to his eyes it was a vision of terror. Thankfully it seemed to be alone. Half formed plans of escape appeared in his head as he started trying to think of a way, any way, out of this impossible situation.

The machine whirred, making a metallic noise, before the voice spoke again. “Detecting muscle contraction. Reasoning for is estimated at a 97% probability of attempting escape.” The machine went silent, while he gazed at it dumbfoundedly.

“Please don’t run.” The voice added, once again in that helpful tone.

He ran. 1 step. 2 steps. 3 steps. He came to with a start, his fourth step kicking ineffectively at the air as he once again found himself flat on his back, with his muscles involuntarily spasming.

“Please don’t run.” That voice again. That helpful note, again. “I have no desire to electrocute you. Assistance will arrive shortly it’d be most beneficial if you’d please wait patiently until then.”

As he lay on his back he groaned. Tears threatened to come to his eyes, and it was an effort to hold them back. He clenched his fist and slammed it roughly into his thigh. Useless. Bloody useless. He hated himself for being caught, for failure, for having never once managing to do anything of note against these thrice damned robots.

He was a flea to them. He was less than a flea. Ever since the incident, every waking moment of his had been filled with thoughts of revenge, thoughts of destruction, thoughts of making them feel every bloody bit of the despair he’d felt. Stupid he knew. A machine couldn’t feel, and it certainly couldn’t despair. They even faced death with the sort of ambivalence one would give to flipping a page, or putting on a new pair of socks.

He knew, He’d always known he had no way to hurt them. No way to make them feel what they’d made him feel. But he would have settled for destruction. He could have filled the void in his heart with every bit of broken steel and twisted machinery he could find. At the very least he could have tried. He hiccuped at that, the dam of tears threatening to break free.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

After all he had tried, and look where it got him. Flat on his back with a floating soccer ball governing him and arresting his movements. He couldn’t even overcome one lousy utility droid, how did he ever plan on stopping the two meter tall peacekeepers, sleek and deadly, that were marching their way down the alley towards him even now?

They came to an abrupt stop mere feet away, blocking off his last chance of escape and with it his last hope of freedom. There were three of them, each one a near impregnable fortress of metal alloy and sophisticated circuitry.

Of course they carried no weapons, at least that he could see. They existed ostensibly for peacekeeping purposes, and claimed no need for them, not that he would argue they did. They themselves were weapon enough.

In the first place, he knew of very few weapons that could so much as mar the surface of these robots. Besides which, for all they claimed to lack weapons, he knew they could shoot arcs of electricity with a thought. What need did they have for primitive rifles and the like?

“Please stand for identification sir, assistance will be provided if you are incapable.” The utility droid spoke once again. He wished it wouldn't sound so damn helpful, unless of course it was going to help him rip the circuits from its board.

With a sigh he clambered to his feet, and stood defiant with his shoulders back and his chest out. He'd be damned if he wouldn't at least look like a hero, if this was going to be the end. At least he'd see his father soon.

The memory came back with the thought, the one that’d haunted his mind for years. It was from a time long ago when he'd been nothing more than a child of three. His father had been standing there like he was now, proud and defiant, facing down the robotic scum. The only difference was that he’d been on top of a building, instead of standing in one’s shadow.

His father had shouted something, whatever it'd been was lost to time and memory, towards a large crowd of peacekeepers that had gathered down below. He still remembered when his father had turned to look at him, and smile that bittersweet smile that all the pain in his eyes belied. He’d turned back and then thrown what he'd been holding right into the midst of that group of peacekeepers.

Pandemonium erupted, and the child couldn’t see what happened in the crowd as he was too short to look over the railing. Too young to care. All he could do was listen, hearing the screams well up like a great wave and yet still overshadowed by the sounds of crashing machinery.

It had taken years to piece together the puzzle of that memory and for most of his youth he'd only recalled the ending. It always began the same, with that arc of electricity, followed by the look of shock on his father's face when he'd been hit square in the chest. Afterwards he had only the sound of his father’s scream slowly dwindling to nothing as he was launched bodily off of the building.

His father had paid the price for his defiance, and it was beginning to look like it was time for him to do the same. After all the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. He thought with a twisted smile, as he glared at the robot's surrounding him.

The utility droid appeared once more in his view, floating around him lazily as it scanned his body and compared it against the most recent census data they had. It reminded him of the old movies he used to watch, about the only thing he'd inherited from a father he barely knew. The man had loved his old school Sci fi, tales of spaceships and robots, exploring the stars and mingling with aliens of all sorts.

Reality was always a bit disappointing compared to fantasy and something in the imagination was lost in translation. Even this scan for example. There was no telltale blue light enveloping him like he saw in the movies, just a soccer ball floating around him in a lazy orbit.

“Scan complete. You have been identified as Jaco O’Kief, son of Gregory O’Kief and Marta O’Kief. Registered address lies within District 14, subsection 5.a, apartment block 12, 5th floor, room 541. 5’10, 160lb estimate, green eyes, red hair, two distinguishing marks. One on forearm noted, one suspected on abdomen, undetermined. Probability estimated at 94%, approaching near certainty if the defining abdominal feature is present.”

The utility droid once more. He half wondered why it bothered to speak aloud. It could communicate with the peacekeepers without a sound, and if it spoke for his benefit he found it rather odd. After all he didn't expect to live much longer.

“Please disrobe for completion of scan.” The robot added helpfully after a few seconds of them staring at each other. Well of him staring at the robot. It didn't have any eyes that he could see, which made him wonder how it had scanned him at all.

With a sigh, he heaved his pack off of his back and began taking off his thick upper layers. He was rather surprised actually, that it had gotten his hair and eye color correct. He died his hair blonde every four days, and wore colored contacts to avoid the cursory scans he encountered on his various trips to the surface.

Perhaps his roots were showing and his contacts had been shaken in the two brief electrocutions. It seemed reasonable, but it was more disconcerting to think his ploy for anonymity had never worked to begin with. Why would I think otherwise, nothing else has ever worked right.

He finally succeeded in pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his “distinguishing abdominal feature”, or in layman's terms, the gruesome scar that covered a third of his belly, stretching from hip bone to navel. He'd gotten it when he was younger, 11 or 12, when he'd been playing peacekeepers and rebels with the other lads in his apartment block. He'd been a rebel of course, like his own father, and an unlucky shove from one of the peacekeepers had sent him tumbling into a beam of metal that had torn his stomach wide open.

He'd give the machines one thing, they were prompt. It hadn't been minutes really, and he’d found himself swaddled in a med ward with a nutrient tube down his throat. For all their vaunted technology he'd still left with a scar though, one that now marked him for life.

Now he wondered if there might have been some purpose to it. It certainly came in useful for them in times like these. His thoughts turned back towards the present, as the machine gave what seemed to be a joyous buzz before it chimed in happily.

“Identification confirmed. Jaco O’Kief, for suspected terrorist activities I must ask you to please escort yourself along with the peacekeepers to meet with a judge.” For the first time the little droid had dropped the helpful note, and now Jaco found himself wishing it would bring it back.

In his mind when the machines stopped being helpful was when the terror began. He bent down and gathered his things, throwing his shirt on but bundling his jacket around the item he'd managed to grab. It might be the end for him, but perhaps he could still help the resistance somehow.

“Will I need this where I'm going?” He asked, holding up his jacket to make sure the Droid understood his question.

It was a silent moment before the Droid responded. “Negative. We find it extremely improbable you will ever need a jacket again.” Did it sound a little bit helpful, or was that just wishful thinking?

Either way, it didn't sound reassuring. With a sigh he grabbed his backpack from the ground and made his way to a nearby dumpster, opening it up and dropping it all inside. He took his time, and hurriedly scrawled a small message in code on the side of the dumpster.

It was a long shot but maybe this won’t all be in vain, he thought as he walked towards the standing peacekeepers, who moved aside when he came near and then closed in around him in a triangular formation. He knew the resistance would come looking for clues tomorrow when he failed to show up. Hopefully they'd manage to retrace his steps and find his stash, and with it they’d finally be able to give one back to these damned machines.

It is all the help I can give them now. Jaco straightened his shoulders, and took his first step, all three robots raising their feet in tandem with him. They marched lockstep down the alleyway, the peacekeepers only stepping aside once they’d reached the entrance to the main road, revealing the vehicle waiting for them and hovering silently.