August 24th, 2013 by Theresa

“C’mon! I’m just doing my job lady!”

“Just doing my job – sir.”

“I gotta stand here, in front of all these people, strip to my boxers, and let you people paw me – JUST to make sure that I’m not carrying weapons?”

“We have it on good authority that you don’t wear boxers. Briefs actually, 38 waist and snug.”

Silence reigned as the courier stared down the security force.  They knew who he was, the deadly assassin known as “Samba.”  What Samba didn’t know  was that today he wasn’t the target.  Only an example to be made – a deliciously handsome example.  The real target stood in the crowd behind him – waiting.

Snarling, Samba ripped off his shirt, buttons flying.  His shoes went next.  As he shucked his pants and socks,  a sigh of delightful approval escaped.  Black and red tattoos in long sinuous lines crossed his body and wound down his legs.

“Happy now, Officer – “ he peered at the name badge on the  guards chest. “McKenzie?”

“Quite.” She replied.  In smooth move, she reached for the man with one hand and drew her stunner with the other.  With machine like precision, McKenzie fired in to the crowd as she pushed Samba to the floor. It was over in a second. McKenzie holstered her weapon to view her forces now taking the real target into custody – the man who had Samba on his kill list.

“You used me bait?” Samba said from the floor.

“It’s standard procedure,” McKenzie replied winking.

As seen on Siobhan Muir’s Thursday Threads

250 Words, Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi, writing

February 8th, 2013 by Theresa

Steel robot bodies fell in cluttered heaps as the electromagnetic pulse rolled through the factory.

“BlackFox to base. Target hit.”  Even after twenty missions since the machines took over I still had the willies. The robots were smart. My paranoia kept me alive.

“Base to BlackFox. Green light to recon. Stay safe and don’t get dead.”

I picked my way through the scrap heaps – metal skeletons with a CPU and a solid state drive for a brain. Others looked human – too human. I stepped over bodies of perfect skin, luxurious hair and awesome abs.  I made damn sure I didn’t trip over racks of bony metal fingers and hip bones.  Pushing down my nausea, I got back to work. A soft cry to my left stopped me in my tracks.

I scrambled to the sound, a closet marked “DECOMMISSION.” She was naked and shivering.  Without thinking I reached for my mini med kit and got the foil blanket around her. She never saw my knife coming.

In a flash I sliced her arm. She yelped and pulled back in horror. “I just wanted to be sure,” I said. “The new models are harder to find.”  My gut twisted as she held out her shaking arm. Blood poured from the wound and servos showed beneath the skin. She was one of them – one of the new ones.

“Don’t kill me,” she begged. “I can help you defeat them all.”

For the first time in years, I got a good feeling.

As appeared on Thursday Threads with Siobhan Muir