《To An Oasis》 Prologue: The City The full moon shone in its full glory over the city, exerting it¡¯s rays far and wide. Yet for all it¡¯s exertion, it did not compare to the city lights that illuminated the streets. So much so that the inhabitants of the city did not so much as glance at the round orb that hung in the sky. This was assuming they could even see it from their vantage point in the streets of the city. The moon had to compete with numerous street signs on every corner and not to mention the buildings upon buildings which dared to block it¡¯s rays.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Despite this fierce and never ending competition it was a quiet night. The constant flow of traffic that never seemed to cease seemed to have long since become part of that quiet, whether it was the motors of the various vehicles or the foot traffic along the sidewalks and crosswalks. It¡¯s ebb and flow had thinned since it was the dead of night but still it wasn¡¯t by any means less potent. And yet a lone window on the 4th floor, in the not good, but not bad either, part of town watched with bated breath as a gun was pointed to a young woman¡¯s head¡­. Part 1: Prototype PseudoMor She stared at me with her round dark eyes calmly, despite my silver revolver staring her straight in the face, her eyes looking past the barrel to hold my gaze. How? Not even a gun to her face could ruffle her calm? She baffled me like no other mortal had before. I had stared down many with my gun, taking them down one by one on orders of the City. I never asked questions when I was given a target but the ending was always the same, pleading for their lives or the lives of their so called loved ones. And I snuffed them out without so much as a mere thought. For what good would their pleas and cries do me? And yet this mortal woman did not behave as others in the past have. Not even close. No plea or word had yet to escape her lips, not even when I entered her one room flat at 3:45 a.m. I had planned to enter when she was dead asleep, wake her up, hear the pleas and cries and then bang! That was how it always went. They were less troublesome when they were half asleep. But when I entered, she was sitting on the only couch in her apartment facing the door. No TV playing, no music. She didn¡¯t even look like she had been sleeping. Only the soft breeze from the window stirred in the room. It was as if she had been waiting for me. She barely flinched when the door opened and I stepped in. If I could have felt something, I would have been surprised that she was not following the script. But seeing her I merely raised my gun and pointed it at her. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. And she just stared at me. Never in all the years has this happened. I was Prototype PseudoMor, a section of cyborgs that was built to mimic humans for the sake of monitoring them. We were created to keep an eye on the humans and make sure they were obeying the City and it¡¯s rules. A special branch of PseudoMor was sent to dispatch those that were deemed harmful to the City. Ironically, my kind used to be humans once upon a time but underwent experiments and found capable of becoming a PseudoMor. We are part human but not human. To that end, we were set loose upon the city to get close to the humans for the purpose of keeping them in line. We were expected to act human yet not have allegiances or feelings toward them. Even the City itself hated us and never ceased to remind us of our inferiority to them all the while utilizing us for their own purposes. Even signs on business stated ¡°No PseudoMors allowed¡±. That was laughable. How would they even know if one walked into the door? They wouldn¡¯t. That was the point. We blended in seamlessly into the human population. The only way you would know we were not human was to break us apart and see our insides. But what human would be strong enough to overpower a PseudoMor? Be that as it may, humans needed keepers otherwise they would ruin it for the collective. History has shown that, time and time again. Left to their own devices they would self-destruct. They had come close many times, almost taking the whole planet with them. How could they be trusted to govern themselves when they frequently messed it up? Even among them they were so disconnected from one another. This one could turn on that one with a mere provocation. Greed and ego was their failing. So could one fault the City for such measures as I? Part 2: Pastel Cafe For all intents and purposes I look like another human. A tall and broad shouldered man with skin the color of dark wooded oak, dressed in all black. There was nothing to distinguish me from any other mortal man. I¡¯ve had many women claim that I was handsome which I found has made my job infinitely easier at times. I used whatever method I needed to, to accomplish my goals for the City. I never asked questions and never did any more thinking that was strictly necessary for the job. Until I met Adele Zoeway. Why the City wanted her disgrentated, I did not know. Adele ran a cafe in town that was called Pastel Cafe. And the cafe was as unique at its owner in this world. First, it was a non-alcoholic place. The only non-alcoholic place within a 10 mile radius. In the beginning of opening, a certain sector of the City claimed that she should serve others by offering alcoholic drinks anyway. But she refused. And Pastel Cafe¡¯s drinks were just as colorful and bright as the cafe itself. I had never seen such vivid colors before in my life. Blues, pinks, and purples. Some yellows or even greens but all gave you the feeling of¡­.what did they call it, happiness? This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The music was not blaring, so loud you could hear it down the corner and around the street, as it did in other places. The music of choice seemed to feature a kind of slow jazz. Something on the calming side. I would be loath to admit there were times I forgot my mission, the longer I heard the music. I suppose I could attest to the validity of the mood she tried to convey. Other things I quickly noticed that were prevalent in most other cafes: there were no men bothering women, backdoor dealings or even under the table dealings for that matter. It was the most above board joint I had ever seen. And I¡¯d see a lot. Pastel Cafe was a cute little cafe with a hominess that defied reason in this City. Even the word cute, although I know what it means, had never been a word that I would use to describe anything I had seen since awakening as a PseudoMor. Until now. This cute, unique cafe catered to a specific niche that seemed loyal to the place if they came to love it. Adele had managed to make her own oasis among the filth of the City. The kids affectionately called her Sister Adele or Aunt Adele depending on their age. Men gathered to talk or play a friendly game of bingo or chess. Women came to gossip the City or their own little circles. For all intents and purposes, she should have been the least threatening to the City and yet somehow she found her way onto their hit list. Part 3: Your Eyes ¡°Have you finally come to kill me?¡± Adele Zoeway¡¯s voice jerked me out of my musings, yet my extended arm did not so much as waver. ¡°You knew?¡± My voice held no inflection. No emotion, no question. It was a cold hard statement. I didn¡¯t have to pretend anymore to be human, so why bother? Adele gave a slight nod of her head, yet her eyes never wavered from mine. Then she gave a small smile, her full lips stretching ever so slightly. She didn''t move in her sky blue couch chair. I noticed she was even dressed as if she had been expecting visitors all along. Most inhabitants of the City wore dark and unobtrusive colors. Was blacks, whites and shades of grey considered to be colors? Be that as it may, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen her in a dark piece of clothing yet. She was dressed every bit as colorful as her cafe, her thick frame was dressed in a light purple jumpsuit that stood out against her mocha skin. I¡¯ve never seen anyone wear such colors until her. It should have disgusted me but strangely it did not. It was obvious that the only way to make such colors would be to buy a lot of light clothing and then dye them in different colors. You could find such dye in the City? This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Your eyes¡±, she answered. When I said nothing, she continued, ¡°Your eyes looked cold and calculating. A step up from the usual look of dead and lifeless. Dying, day by day. Look around and you¡¯ll see so many eyes are already hard and bitter, making them close to lifeless. That is something that is hard to mimic unless you feel that way, live that way. But you don¡¯t. Everything is done with thought and precision. You received orders and carried them out, without any real thought to yourself.¡± Yet, I couldn¡¯t help but to think of many of her regulars at her cafe. Their eyes weren¡¯t either cold and calculating or lifeless. ¡°You know what else gave you away?¡± Adele asked. She obviously didn¡¯t expect an answer because she continued without breath. Just as well as I would not have given an answer. ¡°Doubt. The longer we knew each other more I saw confusion in your eyes. Like many you didn¡¯t understand the purpose of such a place as the Pastel Cafe. But you didn¡¯t let that deter you from your mission then. You pretended. Laughed with the best of them but always you held yourself back. Looking for just the right opportunity to strike. You shut yourself off and wonder if it¡¯s your programming or something you do naturally? But the longer we knew each other the more questions began to rise in your heart. And it was easy to see them lingering in your eyes.¡± ¡°But now something is giving you pause. Doubt. You wrestled with something until today you had come to come to some sort of resolution. It¡¯s why you are here. But now that you are here you have yet to complete your assignment. I wonder why this is.¡± Her dark eyes drilled into mine as if she didn¡¯t have a gun point blank in her face, ¡°So tell me, what are you doubting now?¡± Part 4: Doubts ¡°You. I doubt you.¡± I blurted this out before I was aware of myself speaking. I had no intentions of speaking and yet I couldn¡¯t seem to stop, ¡°I doubt if you are real. You are unlike any I have come across.¡± Adele laughed then looking more childlike than ever with her round face, pastel clothes and headband wrapped around her short hair. Oddly the ends of it stuck up in such a way that reminded me of a bunny rabbit. It was cute. There¡¯s that word again¡­. Adele gestured to the gun I held, her first real acknowledgment of it, ¡°I am real. Trust me. If you pull that trigger I will bleed like everyone else.¡± Then she cocked her head and asked curiously, ¡°Do you bleed?¡± I didn''t answer or blink, but I was thrown off base as I considered her question. Since awakening as a Prototype PseudoMor I have never seen myself bleed before. Did I bleed? I had never thought to ask. Honestly, I didn¡¯t not know. We weren¡¯t humans although we used to be. So did blood still pump through our veins or something else entirely? ¡°You don''t know?¡± Adele asked shrewdly. Then she gave pause, ¡°Do you have a heart?¡± This was an answer I knew. A Prototype PseudoMor still maintained their heart though it was enhanced like the rest of their body. But still could that be qualified as a heart like a human? didn''t know that either. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Adele smiled again, ¡°Well, if you have a heart, then you are more mortal than you care to admit.¡± I didn¡¯t want to think about how she seemed to be reading my mind. So I demanded clutching the gun once, ¡°What¡¯s your endgame?¡± Even in the dark with only the light from the window I could see clearly her eyebrows shooting up, ¡°Endgame?¡± ¡°The reason for all this?¡± She cocked her head, ¡°This?¡± I waved my gun once, ¡°This.¡± ¡°Ahhh¡­..¡± she sung once before answering, ¡°Ah, this. Everyone deserved an oasis, a place of peace, do you think? I just want to contribute to that.¡± I was growling unexpectedly frustrated with this woman. And emotion that I hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. In fact, I don¡¯t think I felt it at all since awakening as a PseudoMor. ¡°Why? All around you the world falls apart, so why? Why bother with this charade?¡± Are we sure she wasn¡¯t some kind of prototype or Alien I didn''t know about? Wait, if she was a prototype of some kind the City would know it, even if she went rogue. So an alien? I¡¯m sure an alien could infiltrate without the City knowing about it. But only for so long. The City did not play. Adele gave a shrug, ¡°The better question is why not? If the whole world forgets peace isn¡¯t that too sad? If one remembers and then isn¡¯t there hope for rebuilding?¡± My hand fingered the trigger as I pronounced, ¡°You will not live to see that day.¡± Adele Zoeway just sat there with a small smile before calmly shutting her eyes. And then¡­. And then I pulled the trigger¡­.. Part 5: Light in a Darkness His cold calculating eyes stared down at me. I chose to ignore the silver revolver in my face to study his eyes. He could not hide from those that bothered to see. It was clear the trace of doubt and uncertainty they held. It was why he had not bothered to pull the trigger but instead to gaze at me for a long time. I suppose anyone else in this situation would be begging for their life and yet I only had a sense of calm. Peace about whatever this night would bring. I¡¯ve known for a little while that he was one of those Prototype PseudoMor that everyone hated. The reason for the mistrust even among humans. They all feared to be talking to a Prototype and reveal information they rather not have shared. These PseudoMors had bred suspicion in the City until it reached the level of madness. There were whispers around the City that not even your own mother could be trusted. How did one know if your mother was in league with the City and was a Prototype PseudoMor? She could have been switched at any time. Could a female Prototype PseudoMor go so far to give birth to act human? Did they have that capability? Equally I¡¯ve heard mothers speak of their own child with suspicion. How do I know I brought back the correct baby and was it fully human? Or that it hadn¡¯t been replaced along the way. There was nothing that said a Prototype PseudoMor could grow from a baby to an adult but then again, there was nothing that said it couldn¡¯t. This Prototype PseudoMor called himself Malik. It actually took me a few weeks to figure out that something was¡­.off. Malik laughed and smiled at all the right places but his eyes were always calculating. Almost as if he was playing a game of chess trying to figure out the next move to make, what response should be given for the situation. I met him when we quite literally ran into each other. I often wonder now if it was a set up to give him an opening to begin his mission. At the time I didn¡¯t think much about it. He was new to town and seemed not to want to talk much about his life before. That was fair, after all most people played things close to the vest. But the longer he hung out around Pastel Cafe and around others did I start noticing little things. As I¡¯ve said, it¡¯s easy to see when you take the time to look. Eventually the cold calculating look gave way to confusion when he looked at me. It was not the first time seeing that from someone. It¡¯s just most never bothered to figure out my motives or reasons. In a city that required you to rely on no one but yourself, it was not odd that many were not willing to get close. Even families were not close, only hanging together when it suited them. However I was fortunate to have parents that loved me. Our family was close. That in of itself was different for in this City everyone went their own way eventually. But my parents chose to stick together. They chose to believe in each other and not the suspicions that were seeded in this City. They knew that they were breaking the ¡°rules¡± of the City but had wished to eventually see a day when people came together in trust and love. That¡¯s why they opened the cafe. They wanted to create a place that fostered trust and love. A level of comfort in an otherwise cold and dark reality. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. When I inherited the cafe, I wanted to continue that legacy. My pops alway said ¡°You can reach more with the light than with the darkness. Always strive to be that light. You never know who it will touch. It can always touch your own soul if you let it.¡± I fixed up the cafe hoping my ideas would bring peace and comfort even if it caused a kind of confusion. I was well aware that many felt threatened by such a thing. Because of the dark world we lived in, I wanted bright and pretty colors even if I had to mix the paint myself. People''s minds were already on edge, so didn¡¯t want any alcohol playing even more tricks with our minds. There was entirely too much drama to deal with on a day to day basis so tomfoolery was not going to happen here. No underhanded deals, bothering women, gambling or any other such nonsense. Pastel Cafe would not be the place for that. It took time and a half to get to the place Pastel Cafe was today. I like to think it worked and my parents would be proud. Mr. Zibali, an older gentleman with a bushy mustache and a beat up fedora came nearly everyday. When he didn¡¯t show up one day, I went to his house and found he was ill. I didn''t mind helping him and since then he has adopted me as a daughter of sorts. He would come sometimes bringing his friend and they would play bingo and drink coffee. I¡¯m not quite sure how but I ended up being the Sister of Auntie to many of the neighborhood kids. They knew that if something was wrong and they needed help they could ask me. Somehow I got regulated to tell stories to the little tykes making them giggle. It was sad that many of the kids were looked at in the neighborhood with suspicion as the adults looked upon each other as such. But they were too young to understand what would eventually lead them to become bitter at early ages. If I could put a smile on their face then I could sleep peacefully at night. But I digress from the situation at hand. Since Malik didn¡¯t seem like he was going to say anything nor had he pulled the trigger yet I decided to speak, ¡°Have you finally come to kill me?¡± He blinked but otherwise didn¡¯t waver in his stance. I suppose a Prototype PseudoMor could stand arm extended until world¡¯s end and not get tired. Must be nice stamina to have¡­. ¡°You knew.¡± He finally rumbled. The statement made me give a slight nod of my head. Why should we hide any more? I knew. ¡°How?¡± Part 6: Your Eyes Part II I answered easily, ¡°Your eyes.¡± I waited a moment but he didn''t move or blink so I continued, ¡°Your eyes looked cold and calculating. A step up from the usual look of dead and lifeless. Dying, day by day. Look around and you¡¯ll see so many eyes are already hard and bitter, making them close to lifeless. That is something that is hard to mimic unless you feel that way, live that way. But you don¡¯t. Everything is done with thought and precision. You received orders and carried them out, without any real thought to yourself.¡± ¡°You know what else gave you away?¡± I didn¡¯t wait for a response as I continued, ¡°Doubt. The longer we knew each other more I saw confusion in your eyes. Like many you didn¡¯t understand the purpose of such a place as the Pastel Cafe. But you didn¡¯t let that deter you from your mission then. You pretended. Laughed with the best of them but always you held yourself back. Looking for just the right opportunity to strike. You shut yourself off and wonder if it¡¯s your programming or something you do naturally? But the longer we knew each other the more questions began to rise in your heart. And it was easy to see them lingering in your eyes.¡± ¡°But now something is giving you pause. Doubt.¡± I gazed at him, ¡°You wrestled with something until today you had come to come to some sort of resolution. It¡¯s why you are here. But now that you are here you have yet to complete your assignment. I wonder why this is. So tell me, what are you doubting now?¡± I was surprised when he was quick to answer and wondering if he had an answer to a question that had not been asked of him yet ¡°You. I doubt you. I doubt if you are real. You are unlike any I have come across.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but to laugh at his answer. I have gotten many responses but I¡¯ve never been called unreal before. What did he think of me, an alien or some other prototype? How kind. It''s a kinder inquiry into my being. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°I am real. Trust me. If you pull that trigger I will bleed like everyone else.¡± I cocked my head, suddenly curious, ¡°Do you bleed?¡± His eyes shifted the barest inch. ¡°You don''t know?¡± I asked surprise in my voice. I gave a pause. Now I was largely fuelled by my curiosity. This is the first time knowing a Prototype like him and a human having a conversation, ¡°Do you have a heart?¡± I had heard that cyborgs didn¡¯t have a heart and it was powered with something else or they had hearts and it was enhanced. Either way I smiled, ¡°If you have a heart then you are more human than you care to admit.¡± Having a heart meant that you were not purely machine. My parents often wondered if these kinds of prototypes were as heartless as many made them out to be. In order to act like humans they had to have some basis to act on, which meant they needed to have some kind of emotion or heart. I was curious to know the answer to this puzzle. His voice snapped me out of my reverie, ¡°What¡¯s your endgame?¡± ¡°Endgame?¡± I wasn¡¯t sure what this question meant. ¡°The reason for all of this?¡± ¡°This?¡± He couldn''t seem to find his words so he finally moved, waving his gun up and down. ¡°Ahhh, this¡­..¡± Maybe he was confused by my manner, like many. I just acted according to my beliefs. ¡°Everyone deserved an oasis, a place of peace, do you think? I just want to contribute to that.¡± His forehead wrinkled together. First sign of emotion I¡¯ve seen since he came, ¡°Why? All around you the world falls apart, so why? Why bother with this charade?¡± I shrugged, ¡°The better question is why not? If the whole world forgets peace isn¡¯t that too sad? If one remembers and then isn¡¯t there hope for rebuilding?¡± Malik¡¯s nose flared as it seemed to me he got some resolved one way or another, ¡°You will not live to see that day.¡± I gave a small smile before calmly shutting my eyes. I was quite happy with my progress in life. I would have no regrets. Maybe I¡¯d see my parents again¡­. And then I heard the gun fire¡­.. Part 7: To Your Oasis The window breathed and shuddered in the night. The bullet had missed Adele¡¯s head by mere inches. Only some with great skill could shift their hand at the last moment to prevent the bullet from grazing even so much as a strand of hair. The wind gently blew the curtains as Adele opened her eyes slowly. It took a moment to realize she was still alive. She looked up to see Malik lowering the gun to his side. Her dark eyes were wide as she finally managed to find her voice, ¡°Why? Why did you miss?¡± Malik looked down at her, his cold eyes pinched as confusion swelled within them, ¡°You seemed to know these things better than I. You tell me.¡± She only gazed at him quizzly for a long moment before unfolding herself from the couch and standing. She had to look up a little to see peer into Malik¡¯s face, ¡°What happens now?¡± He looked down at her, ¡°My time to report to the City about you is close. If you aren¡¯t dead¡­¡± ¡°Do you know why they want me dead?¡± Adele asked and Malik shook his head and answered, ¡°I¡¯m not privy to those kinds of things. I just follow orders.¡± The young woman stood, walked to the window and peered out. No one would inquire about the gunshot. Such was this City. It was just background noise much like the traffic that mosyed down the street. ¡°You really think I have a heart?¡± came a soft and unsure inquiry. Adele turned and looked over her shoulder as him. It was hard to tell his age. He could very well be from the last millennium despite looking like he was in his 30¡¯s. But his eyes looked too old for his face as if he had seen a lot. He was a tall and imposing man yet looked like many of the children that came to her.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°You made your own choice to miss. Does that not answer your question?¡± Adele asked instead. Malik shook his head and responded slowly, his dark eyes fixed on the carpet beneath them, ¡°I...I remember things I¡¯m not sure if they''re memories or¡­..¡± He paused and glanced up at Adele. Finding no condemnation he continued, ¡°Sometimes I remember a world that isn¡¯t this one. Where the talk of heart, love and peace is a reality. But I do not understand what I see.¡± Adele¡¯s head bobbed once in thought, ¡°If you were mortal before becoming a prototype it¡¯s not impossible you might have been from the millennia past and your body carried those memories all these years.¡± Malik¡¯s eyes widened. He had never inquired into his past or anything before he woke up as a Prototype PseudoMor. All he knew was that he felt nothing since then. Oh so he thought. He felt a lot when it came to Adele Zoeway. A myriad of emotions that made his head spin and his heart constrict. But above all he felt a sense of stability and peace at Pastel Cafe and with her that he never felt before. Such things were dangerous in this world. If a prototype was compromised they were captured and deactivated. He had seen it once with his own eyes as an example of what not to do. He felt nothing then but now chills ran down his spine at the thought. Malik looked down to see his free hand being cradled by another, making him look back up. Adele looked up at him, ¡°Are you going to complete your assignment?¡± A pause and he swore he felt the room hold its breath. ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±, he finally admitted. Even such words felt foreign on his tongue. No one asked a Prototype PseudoMor for their opinion. No one asked if they did or did not want to do something. They were given orders and expected to obey. If they didn¡¯t they were deactivated and the task passed on to someone who would obey. Malik had been such a perfect prototype until now. In such a short time he was loathed to imagine a world without Adele. When Adele gave a brilliant smile, Malik found he was glad to have said such a thing, To his remembrance it was the first time that he managed to make her smile like that at him. Adele released his hand and Malik¡¯s fingers flexed once, ¡°Then we will have to think of something, yeah?¡± ¡°Run away with me.¡± He was doing a lot of impulsive blurting out tonight he was finding. This suggestion shocked even. However Adele seemed to take it in stride, ¡°To where?¡± Malik noticed she didn¡¯t ask why. She didn¡¯t seem to miss a beat. So he didn¡¯t either, ¡°To your oasis¡­.¡± . End.