Title: NoticedAuthor: FinalPhoenix      There are some people you
weren�t meant to notice. There are some people your eyes aren�t supposed
to pick up; they�ll pass over them easily as they blend into the crowd,
another face without a name, another life not worth knowing. John Edens
was that kind of guy.        �Mister Edens,� her professor, a cranky old
man who had little patience, but a loud voice interrupted her
daydreaming. �Late again.�    Her eyes, still half lidded from her lack
of sleep the night before, scanned over the packed lecture hall to see
the person her professor berated. Mr. Edens was missable person who
looked much like everyone else. He was in khaki cargo pants and a green
polo shirt that looked like it had been run over by a car recently. She
had never seen him before, but now that she had, she wondered how she
had missed him over the semester. John Edens� fingertips were black, and
that was enough for her to notice him.      �Nicole, wake up! who is
he?� She nudged her friend, another girl asleep on her desk, her
homework a mess of scribbles, half done, all wrong.   The redhead next
to her rubbed her eyes and looked blearily at the kid who was hurrying
down the steps of the lecture hall to an empty seat near the front.
�John?� Her voice was tinged with tiredness and a hangover. Nicole
squinted before letting her head fall back down onto her arms �Some
hacker kid I think? He won something at a con...death con...something.�
Her sentence trailed off as she fell back asleep.    �The death con
thing? He won a programming thing? He won something at a death con? Is
he smart? Nicole!�        �Quiet! Miss Chartreuse, I do not tolerate
interruptions.� There was a snap of a book shutting and she sat upright,
her friend doing the same.  �Yeah,� Nicole continued, her voice barely
above a whisper. �It was a big deal last year; whatever, he�s just
another loser in a sea of losers.� Nicole was bitter about the
engineering department because she had failed this class twice.
�Maybe,� She bit her lip. �Maybe he could help us though, Nikki. If he�s
a hacker, maybe he knows a lot about programming, too.�        �Yeah, if
he was a hacker, how about he changes our grades?� Nicole pulled her
hair back into a bun.        Emma knew what that meant: Nicole was going
back to sleep. She sighed and watched her friend, the only other girl
she had met so far in the Engineering program, create a pillow out of
homework and books, and cuddle in for a long lecture nap. Emma was a
freshman in the Engineering program, and struggled with even the most
basic Java questions. Her parents told her that if she wanted money,
this was the ticket, except she absolutely hated everything about it.
Emma was a short ex-track star with the body of an otter and the brown
hair to match. She wasn�t the typical engineering student, and her past
as an athlete only seemed to work against her. �I�m going to stay behind
and ask the professor some questions,� Emma said as the lecture ended.
Nicole handed her homework paper to Emma, eraser dust still stuck to it.
It matched Emma�s own. �Turn this in for me, then. I don�t want to get
that look that he gives when you turn in homework that looks like this.�
Emma braved the look and handed in her paper quickly to the professor,
trying to ignore the �disappointed father� glare before hurrying off
outside. She was going to catch up to the hacker, John Edens, and see if
he could help. He didn�t have any friends; he couldn�t say no.     She
pushed through the sea of exiting engineers to find him and caught a
glimpse of his stained green polo rushing across the lawn in front of
the building. �John! John Edens!� She bumped into a few people as she
broke free from the crowd. John Edens had black hair that looked like it
had been cut by his mother, a clean bowl cut all around, black eyes that
matched the oil stains on his shirt, and skin that was so white he
looked ghostly. John Edens only glanced back once before picking up his
pace. Emma broke out into a sprint, her backpack slamming against her as
she rushed across the lawn. She caught up and then passed him, turning
around and beginning to walk backwards in front of him.       �You won
something at the death con thing, right?� She asked. It came out in a
slurry of words between gasping breaths of air. She was too out of shape
for being one year into a track and field scholarship.  John did not
meet her eyes as he spoke, instead focusing on his ratty sneakers. �It�s
n-n-none of your bee-beeswax, Em-Em-Em-Emma Chartreuse, Fr-Freshman.�
Oh, she almost tripped as she realized why he had no friends; John had a
debilitating stutter. She second guessed asking him to tutor her; a
stutter might just make things harder on her. She squeezed the notebook
in her hand, full of C�s and D�s. She had no other choice; no other boy
would talk to her. Stutter or not, if he was smart, he was going to help
her.      �You know me?� She asked. �Listen, I�m not gonna beat around
the bush, John Edens. I need a tutor; I�m really bad at this nerd stuff,
my parents will pay, and heck, I�ll pretend to be your girlfriend if you
can do Java.�    His response had no stutter, but she missed a step in
walking backwards and tripped over her own feet. �No.� He didn�t stop to
help her, just carried on across campus. �Ok,� she said, gritting her
teeth and dusting herself off, catching up to him. There was no way she
was letting him get away with perfect grades on the line. �Maybe we can
just be friends or something, then? Or I can just copy your homework?
Nikki says you�re a hacker; can you hack my grades for a fee?�
�Not-Not-Not that kind of hack-hacker.� The last word was said
deliberately, and in a measured tone. She saw a blush suffuse on his
face. She knew he was embarrassed by his speech impediment, but she
didn�t care.    �What kind of hacker wins things at a hacking con called
Death Con, then?�      �Def-Defcon.� He turned back to her, his mouth
opening and closing as he decided on what best to say to get her to buzz
off. He decided to ignore her instead.  She huffed and looked down at
her notes, an almost word for word copy of every lecture, since she had
no idea what was important or not in these classes. If she failed, she
would lose her scholarship, and her parents would be furious. This kid
was smart, and had no friends. He wasn�t like the other engineer boys,
who sat in quiet groups all glaring at her and Nikki. He had no group.
Emma and Nikki would be his group! She was determined.        She
changed tactics and began to question again. �What�s your major?�   He
set his jaw for a minute, and she was sure he wasn�t going to reply.
Eventually, as they passed under another set of shady trees, he
responded. �Robotics.�  �Oh, cool, is that what you won at the death
con?�      �Def-Def-Defcon, and yes.�      She cheered internally; he
was talking to her now. She knew it was only a few conversations and a
cup of coffee away from all As now. �I�m in Computer Science, but it�s
hard! Robotics is probably harder.� She fed his ego easily. She didn�t
care how stupid she sounded; she hoped he would take pity on her.
A fall breeze picked up and scattered some leaves in front of her. He
stopped to let the leaves pass, as if he had expected it. She did the
same. Emma�s hair blew in front of her eyes, and she noticed he was
watching her. She smiled to herself. They were friends already, so maybe
she could get the homework help tonight.       �Eh-ma.� It was an
annoyed Nikki; she knew that voice anywhere. �What?� Emma looked away
from John, only to feel his fingers brushing her arm. His fingers were
cold. She drifted away from him slightly, wondering if they had gotten
too close by accident.   �Lunch or nah?� Nikki had a thumb pointing back
over her shoulder towards the dining hall.      �Sure.� She turned back
to John to invite him along, but there was no one there. �Yeah, let�s
go. I�m starved.� Emma looked around campus, wondering if maybe she
could run and catch up to him to invite him, but this side of campus was
all science and mathematics. She didn�t know it well enough to have a
clue as to which way he went. She rushed over to Nikki, who was asking
about what their nasty Java professor thought about the homework.
Emma only listened half-heartedly, looking over her shoulder every few
minutes. She wondered if she could catch sight of John. He disappeared
so suddenly; she hadn�t gotten any way to contact him. No homework help
tonight.***       She scribbled in pencil at her homework, occasionally
checking Wikipedia for reference. �It wasn�t going to get her full
points, but it�d get her a halfhearted �at least you tried� point. �It
was better than nothing. The tip of the pencil broke and she set it
down, frustrated. Nikki had fallen asleep again, drool slipping out of
her mouth and staining the worksheet.        It had been a few hours
since lunch. The sun was low enough in the sky that it set a glare off
across her screen. Emma stretched in her seat and decided that a walk
and an energy drink, might get her through this worksheet written by
Satan himself. She extricated herself from the booth quietly, hoping not
to shift anything enough to wake up Nikki from her nap. Her worksheet
fluttered to the floor and, hoping to teach it who was boss, Emma left
it there.       The cafeteria hallways were quiet; it was not quite
dinner time yet, but too far after lunch for anyone to still be eating.
She saw a few students running to make a class, but she could hear the
clunk of the doors echo. Emma spotted him then, his bowl cut
unmistakable as he slipped into the convenience store that was tucked
inside the mess hall. A smile spread across her face, but she quickly
schooled her features as a plan formulated in her head.     They would
bump into each other accidentally, and she would ask him if he would
like to join her for dinner. Of course he would, because she was so
charming and his only friend in the whole world; he would grab both her
hands, exuberantly say yes, and pull out all the homework for the
semester. He �had already done it all, of course, and would, hand it to
her, and tell her that he was just testing her tenacity earlier, and she
gets all A�s forever. Also he hacked into her grades and gave her A�s in
every other class too, and would help Nikki because of friends. Yes!
Emma tried to hide the skip in her step as the plan solidified in her
mind, and brushed against his shoulder in front of the energy drink
display. She noted she was a good head shorter than he was, her nose
barely reaching the top of his shoulder. He stiffened at the contact and
reached out, grabbing a can of her favorite energy drink.       �Oh!
That�s my favorite too,� she commented as she reached out to grab one,
but instead he handed it to her, before grabbing a different one.
She narrowed her eyes. Did he just choose a different one to spite her?
Did he really want nothing to do with her so much that he�d choose a
different drink? She squeezed the cold blue can in her hands and bit her
lip. What happened to the plan? What happened to all A�s forever? �Oh,
um, thanks, I guess. Did you know that was my favorite?�       He gave
her a noncommittal hum before turning to the cashier. She noted his feet
hit dead center of every tile in the convenience store. How many days
had John come here to know exactly where to step? Maybe she was
overthinking it again. It was a fault of hers; she always picked up too
much detail, and never the important things. She thought back to her
useless lecture notes and chastised herself.       He had the exact
amount ready before the cashier rung him up, and she stepped up to pay
for her own drink. The cashier, a bored girl who wore a shirt that was
much too big for her, and had pink highlights that were much too bright
for her looked up boredly. �It�s already paid.� The cashier�s dull green
eyes looked over at John who was exiting the store.       �Yeah? I�ll go
thank him then.� She shifted the cold can into her other hand and ran to
meet with John.        �Do-Do-Don�t follow me,� he said as she rounded
the corner.       His hand was so tight around the black can in his hand
that she thought it was going to burst. His knuckles were white, and he
did not look back at her.       She pretended to be uninterested, but
something about his words felt familiar. It washed over her uneasily and
she shifted the can, and her weight before she responded.        �I
wasn�t going to!� Emma realized how stupid it sounded now, because she
had followed him. �I was just heading this way, don�t flatter yourself!�
He looked back at her now; his eyes caught the last light of day, and
�she was sure they glowed. His whole body was tense. His jaw was set. He
looked like a dog about to fight. �Good.�       She wanted to know why
he was so angry at her. She hadn�t done anything wrong by trying to
befriend him. Emma took another step forward and he stepped backwards,
towards the glass double doors a few feet away. Her breath caught and
she felt like this scenario was all too familiar. She didn�t care if he
hated her. She didn�t care how he felt at all, because all she wanted
was homework help. Tutors didn�t need to like their pupils, right?
Emma looked down at the can in her hand, the condensation on the
aluminum running down into her fingers, trying to come up with the right
set of words to make him like her. She was a likable person, she was
sure of it. He just had to like her enough to give her all his homework.
�Listen� John.� She looked up to see the glass doors swinging shut,
clattering as they met.       Emma sighed in frustration. Wasn�t it
supposed to be her job to play hard to get? She pushed open the doors
angrily and began to follow him back across campus. �Don�t follow me.�
She mimicked in a whiny voice �I hate you because you�re nice and pretty
and perfect, Emma.�       She would show him. Her feet kicked up leaves
as the fall afternoon grew colder. She was only wearing a t-shirt and
jeans today, and wished she had brought a jacket. She hugged herself,
and then winced when she realized she was still holding an ice cold can,
letting out a hiss as she yanked it back away from her.        There was
the squeal of a door hinge and she looked up from her energy drink just
in time to see the doors to the Mathematics building slam shut.
Nikki told her that Mathematics was a dead major, and the building
reflected that. It had fallen into disrepair and disuse. A few
professors were there only to prop up other majors that needed their
expertise, but without funding for the department, the building
suffered. Nikki said that people thought it was haunted and laughed,
telling her that it was the ghosts of post-doctoral students.       She
steeled herself, convinced she wasn�t afraid of some urban undergraduate
legends, and yanked open the door a little more forcefully than she
should have, noting the crack in the window that was covered with an old
exam. There were cracks in every door except two. They all were
identical. She wondered if the doors were made this way. The mathematics
building really was neglected. She was the only one in the lobby, facing
two elevators that she didn�t really trust to still be in service, a
slotted screen in front of both of them that looked like they had last
been used when her parents went to college.       Her footsteps echoed
off the walls; every smack of her sneakers on the tile was magnified ten
times as she ran her fingers over closed wooden doors of abandoned
lecture halls. The first floor of many. She saw him come in here. She
just didn�t see where. It was no matter, for she was patient. She would
find him, and convince him to help her. Emma closed her eyes as she
rounded another corner, the hum of fluorescent lamps broken up by a
clicking noise as one of them died. Nothing on the first floor, not even
the ghost of a post-doc. She laughed her nerves away; what did she
expect?       The stairwell was so dark she used her phone�s screen to
light the way. Air rushed up past her, howling as it struggled through
the cracks in the concrete, blowing her shirt up slightly as she
measured her steps. Fear crept in with the wind. What if these stairs
didn�t hold? What if the second floor didn�t hold? Each step was harder
to take, but she didn�t want to go back now.       The second floor was
home to one professor, the light coming from underneath his door as he
marked exams. He seemed surprised that anyone would be in the building
at all, and when she asked if he had seen anyone else, he shook his
head. He asked if she was a math major, but she shook her head in
response. He frowned and went back to grading papers. �Shut the door on
your way out. Don�t waste my time.�       It was on the third floor that
she heard it, louder than the clicks of the fluorescent lights dying It
sounded like bubble wrap being popped. She paused at the doorway to the
stairwell, her hand resting against the cold metal, wondering if she
should press forward. An intake of breath, and as she exhaled she pushed
the door open.        Smoke hit her in the face, the whole floor looked
like a dive bar just before closing, the lights were either dimmed or
broken, and the stench of something burning made her nose scrunch up and
her hand cover her mouth, dropping her can on the floor.        �John?�
She yelled through her hand, hoping for some response. Was this the
floor that he went to? Did he catch something on fire? The thought of
him attempting suicide occurred to her briefly, but she tried to forget
it.       At the end of the hall, underneath one of the few lights that
still worked, was a door that was cracked open with smoke billowing out
of it. She kicked it open but the door swung back at her, her foot
stopping it from slamming shut. There was a moan and she knew the
voice--she knew it was John. Something deep inside of her recognized him
without seeing him, and she got on her hands and knees, trying to crawl
underneath the smoke and get closer to him. Panic made her fingers hurt
as she pushed open the door again, slowly, pushing back against the body
that was holding it shut. She slipped inside, realizing it was not much
more than a broom closet.   There was no fire, despite the amount of
smoke that the closet was emitting, and she wondered if it truly was
some misguided suicide attempt. �John,� she coughed, crawling over to
his body. There was no light except for the screens of the laptops that
had been set up around the room. Two red dots lit up the far corner,
glowing softly in the smoke.   He was lying on the floor, his body
crumpled in a heap, wrapped around a busted laptop that was connected to
something via a black wire that stretched over his hip and into the
smoky room. She yanked on it, popping it loose, and immediately and
there was the unmistakable whirr of a motor.       There were two beeps
coming from some machine in the room and her head whipped towards the
sound, shaking John to wake him up, but he didn�t move. �Niceness value
adjusted.�       The woman�s voice was serene if not slightly monotone.
Smoke seeped out of the room, and Emma wiped her watery eyes with the
back of her hand and looked around the broom closet to try and find out
what had spoken. There were a few monitors placed between cleaning
supplies. John�s head was only a few inches away from a mop. She pushed
him upright in order to get him out of the closet, but his head lolled
on her shoulder, and the laptop clattered to the floor.       �Wake up!
Wake up!� How did she get involved in this? She just wanted a tutor! Was
this what he had made at the death con? A robot that killed?       �I�m
sorry, I do not understand.� The voice came from the darkness and Emma
looked up from John.       In the far wall of the closet, illuminated by
an old LCD that wrote line after line of gibberish without input was a
robot of sorts. It was a mess of wires, twisted in some crude
representation of the human nervous system, and at the top were two
webcams with red lights that glowed in the smoke. It was horrifyingly
beautiful. It was an achievement of sorts, awe-inspiring and yet
terrifying.       She shifted and the door opened enough for her to
scoot out into the hallway, trying to get a better view of the mass of
machinery in the closet. �What did you do?� She cried, hugging her
would-be tutor to her as she tried to get them both away from the
smoking machine.       There was another pop, the same she heard before.
There was a spark in the lower corner that lit up like lightning in a
storm cloud. The thing spoke again, its tinny speaker struggled with the
volume as it spoke in a calming voice that sounded eerily human.
�Niceness value adjusted; adjust another?� �I�m nice!� she insisted,
hoping to placate it, hoping to do something to get her out of this
situation ��We�re all nice here.�       A few more pops sounded and Emma
screamed, cowering behind John�s limp body. Her heart beat wildly in her
chest; each breath of the smoke burned her throat. Adrenaline pumped
through every last nerve ending, and she dug her fingers into John�s
skin, pulling him back against her, but she hit a wall. Meanwhile the
snapping and popping continued.       She looked up to see that the mass
of wires was moving, and it was moving towards her. Its fingers were
clenched like hers. Its mouth, or what could be considered a mouth, a
grotesque imitation of metal, was slack-jawed like hers. �I am not nice.
I am not nice. Adjust niceness value?�       Emma didn�t know what kind
of monster this was, what kind of death robot he had built, but she did
not want to find out. She scrambled to her feet, tripping only slightly
as she left the body of John in the hall. There was no way to carry him;
the guilt that coursed through her was quickly pushed away because fear
ruled her actions, and fear got her body moving down the dim, smoky
hallway.       She reached the door to the stairwell and turned back,
wondering if maybe she could save John, the tutor who knew her favorite
energy drink, but the robot was suddenly copying her movements. It
stumbled over John�s body and then it swerved, its servo motors making
an electrical whir as it bolted down the hallway towards her, its metal
feet slapping against the tile. The robot was a mimic, and she didn�t
want to be around to see what else it could do.       She slammed the
door to the dark stairwell behind her, clicking the button to turn on
her phone�s screen as her feet hit every last step. Breathing became
difficult and she coughed as she hit the second floor landing, but there
was no time to catch her breath; she heard the squeak of the door. It
was coming for her, just as it came for John. She should have never
noticed him in the first place, damn him! Damn him for not cooperating
and giving up his homework when they first met! She slipped on the last
set of stairs, her phone clattering and her knee catching on the
concrete, sending a jolt of pain that made her teeth clench. She could
come back for the phone later, when the death machine was gone.
Emma practically flew out the front doors of the math department, her
fist hitting the glass door and sending a hairline crack snaking down to
the corner. She stumbled out into the lawn and saw a campus officer
patrolling as the last minutes of daylight slipped out of view.
�Officer, pl-please!� She wheezed as she fell to her knees at his feet.
�There�s a fire...a robot fire, please! He�s dead!� Her fingers balled
into the blue fabric of his uniform and she noted his hands were warm as
he grabbed her shoulders.       �St-st-steady there girl, wh-wh-what is
the-the matter?�       Her eyes shot up, bloodshot and watery from the
smoke in the building. �Pl-pl-please, you have to-to-to save hi-him!�
She wailed, slumping down to her hands and knees on the pavement before
him.       �Wh-wh-where�s the fi-fi-fi-fire?� He had a stutter just like
John did. Just like John had.        Guilt and despair rose up as she
realized that she had held on to him just after that robot had killed
him, or had been ordered to kill him. Was it suicide? Was it murder? His
dead body felt so cold in her arms. She had never seen a dead body
before; it was seared into her memory. She would never forget that she
had let him die in that broom closet. She could have saved him! If only
she had bothered him more, or she had delayed him just a bit more in
that hallway. If only she had followed him like he had told her not to!
Emma exhaled shakily and closed her eyes. How would she explain this to
the police?       �Mister Edens,� a voice drawled, �late again.�
Her eyes snapped open and she looked to see the boy whose corpse she had
held walking down the steps in the lecture hall hurriedly, his head
bowed as he tried not to draw attention while he found an empty seat.
Her heart leapt, and so did her body, hitting her hip on her desk and
hissing in pain. �Jo-John!� She called and the whole hall turned towards
her, but he didn�t.       �Sit down Miss Chartreuse; I will not have
unnecessary interruptions in my class.� Her professor drawled as the
class snickered, and she quickly was yanked down by Nicole next to her.
�What do you think you�re doing?� her best friend hissed. �He�s gonna
notice I�m napping and then what? Don�t be stupid.�       �Do-Do you
kn-know that kid?� Emma asked, and then quickly covered her mouth. What
was wrong with her voice? Why was she stuttering?       Nikki pulled her
hair up into a bun on top of her head, and nestled back down onto her
arms before murmuring �Some hacker kid I think, he won something at a
con...death con...something.� Her sentence trailed off as she fell back
asleep.       Panic surged through her. Had she just fallen asleep
during the lecture? D�j� vu washed over her like cold water, and she
looked down at her notebook. The title of the lecture was the same as it
was before; everything was the same as it was before. Her hand shook as
she picked up her pen, and begin to copy the entire lecture down, word
for word. That eerie feeling that everything was a repeat left her
unsettled. She bit it down, swallowing her feelings of discomfort along
with the stutter.       Her professor shut his book and sighed, a long,
disappointed sigh that said he was fed up with the college students. It
signaled that the lecture was over, and she was out of the lecture hall
like a shot. She had to find John. He had to remember what happened in
the mathematics building. Someone had to remember that robot. They had
to.       John caught her out of the corner of his eye and slipped
through the stream of students exiting the lecture hall and then across
the lawn away from her. He did remember her; he remembered everything.
She pushed some engineering student and broke through the crowd of
people, rushing after him. He sped up, trying not to look back at her.
�You-you-you-you remember, don�t you?� Gods, but this stutter was so
embarrassing now that she had it. Every sentence took concentration.
John Edens slowed his gait, his hands clenching into fists and
unclenching. �I-I-I don�t know wh-what you�re t-t-t-talking about.�
It hurt worse than she expected, maybe because it was confirmation that
she was going crazy. She stopped walking, watching him get further and
further away from her. She took a few steps and reached out her fingers
wrapping around his wrist, stopping him just before the wind, the same
wind from before, kicked up leaves that blew across the sidewalk.
�T-T-Tell,� her mouth snapped shut as she concentrated on the sentence
so that the next words came out measured. �Do you know me?�       He
looked at her, and an odd expression passed over his features before he
looked away. �Em-Emma Chartreuse, Fr-Freshman.�       �Eh-ma.� Nikki
sounded annoyed, she looked back to see the redhead standing impatiently
a few feet behind her. �Lunch or nah?�        John used the opportunity
to slip away. She felt him leave, their skin losing contact easily, but
she wanted more proof that he wasn�t dead. She wanted more proof that he
wasn�t lying in her arms in that smoky hallway. His stutter was now
hers, like a communicable disease.       She waited a second before
responding, willing her brain and mouth to work. �Co-Coming!� They
didn�t.       John Edens took up all her thoughts, there was something
different about him today, maybe this wasn�t d�j� vu after all.
***       She had Wikipedia up, desperately searching for some kind of
explanation for her d�j� vu. It had to be some kind of medical issue
that wasn�t cancer like WebMD kept telling her it probably was. Some
kind of reason other than alien abductions like forums told her.
Something reasonable. The internet said it was because her brain wasn�t
working properly, and that it was fried in all the wrong ways.
Emma looked down at her empty Java worksheet and wondered if her classes
were making her crazy. She certainly could believe it. Anyone could see
that the algorithms that the professor asked her to write out were going
to melt her brain. Enough to give her some kind of weird brain damage
though? She tapped the pencil against her teeth, as she turned the
thought over in her mind. Probably.        She opened up a new search
window and typed out the words the robot had said to her after it
murdered �d�j� vu John,� and got a page about programming jibberish. �A
job with high niceness is nice to the users requiring little CPU, a job
with low niceness uses most of the CPU, and therefore is not nice to
users.�       That made a little sense; was this what her dream computer
was talking about? She had never heard about it before, but it could be.
Emma decided not to rule out anything that made her seem at least a
little sane. Of course it was a dream. Nikki�s snore broke her train of
thought and she smacked her cheeks a little. Wake up, Emma, stop
stressing over some dream!       She slid out of the booth, her now
empty worksheet fluttering to the ground. An energy drink would fix
this, she paused, trying to shake off the feeling that this was all done
before. It was a dream, it was a dream.        The hallways were empty
in that lull between lunch and dinner. She saw a few students out of the
corner of her eye, three girls, running out the door. They must be late
to class, she surmised, turning the corner from the cafeteria to the
convenience store.        Her heart skipped a beat; he was there again.
No, not again; this was the first time. His green polo shirt that looked
like it had been run over by a car, his bowl cut that was hilariously
out of date, but it was all so intensely John that she couldn�t mistake
it. Her breath caught in her chest, and her feet stopped underneath her.
She couldn�t shake the dream, or the way his head lolled over in her lap
as she pulled him out of the closet. The coldness of his body against
hers, the noise of the machine, the feeling of guilt, overtook her for a
moment. Emma took her lower lip between her teeth and pressed forward.
She would pretend like nothing happened. She could never explain to him
that she was dreaming about his death.       They stood shoulder to
shoulder in front of the energy drink display; the hum of the
refrigerator was louder than their breathing. She couldn�t start
conversation. She felt like the minute she opened her mouth, all her
secrets, all the things that had happened in her dream to him would come
spilling out to a total stranger. He reached out for her favorite, a
true blue can, and handed it to her. She didn�t say anything this time
as he slipped the can between her weak fingers.       He knew that�s
what she wanted before she had mentioned it. He knew because this wasn�t
his first time doing this with her. He knew because he was in the loop
as well. She spoke �It-It-It�s a re-repeat.�       He hummed
noncommittally as he went to the counter to pay for both of their
drinks. The cashier seemed to be waiting for her to finish the script,
looking up from the counter as she stood still in the middle of the
store.       �He-Here.� She offered money to the cashier, feeling
foolish because she knew it had been paid.       �S�already paid.� The
cashier looked over at John who was already walking out the store.
She decided not to reply, her stutter made her feel stupid. Instead, she
turned on her heel and followed him out, emotions roiling just below the
surface. She had so many questions, but the stutter made it hard to say
anything. So she followed him just as she had before.       He did not
turn on her this time, and he did not get angry, but this time he waited
for her. His finger was plucking the tab on the top of his energy drink
to make a loud pinging noise. It reminded her of the beeping of the
robot, and her heart jumped at the noise.        John had black eyes
that saw through her and everything else. There was a hint of sadness in
those eyes as she met his gaze. That expression from earlier was
explained when his hands reached out for her briefly, before snapping
back to his side. It was loneliness, it was desperation.       She
licked her lips before she responded, concentrating on one word, it
escaped fully formed, no stutter. �Again?�        A sigh of relief, or
of pain, came from him as he almost bent over. �So-So-So many ti-times.�
John�s stutter made it sound like he was on the verge of tears. His
knuckles were white around the can, his whole body tense as they stood
in the deserted hallway.       She saw him now, truly saw him in the
dying light of the afternoon. John Edens, a man that no one quite paid
attention to, had been with her through this day a million times. He was
thin, tired, and scared. He was a man that knew he was going to die.
Her fingers reached out for him, brushing against his skin, enjoying the
way his eyes fluttered shut at the contact. �Le-Le-Let me he-el-help.�
She bit off the last word forcefully.       �No.� He pulled away from
her quickly, a few steps back, and his shadow grew longer as he
separated himself from her. It covered her completely now. �Do-Do-Don�t
follow me.�       Emma waited, tears stinging her eyes as she came to
the conclusion that no dream could predict the future. It wouldn�t
happen, not again. She was just being stupid. He was, too. She wouldn�t
follow him, she wouldn�t.       It took a few heartbeats, but ex-track
star Emma made up her mind. She would check, just to make sure. Emma
broke into a run towards the math building, dropping the can on the
concrete before she entered. Two cracks, two cracks were in the windows
of the front doors to the mathematics building this time. Her fingers
traced over the one she recalled hitting yesterday, a hairline fracture.
No time, her mind roared, no time for reminiscing.       She darted up
the stairs, first floor, second floor, third floor. She huffed as she
slammed her body into the metal door. It swung open and clattered
against the wall behind it. Emma heard the popping of bubble wrap,
knowing now that it was the death con robot. The smoke billowed out of
the closet at the far end of the hallway, but hadn�t settled into a
thick fog like before. It wasn�t too late; she could save him. She just
had to push a little harder, run a little faster. Move, Emma! She forced
her body to cooperate, her legs to pick up a little more, even as her
lungs filled with smoke.       She banged open the door, and saw it all
so clearly now.       �Adjusting niceness value. Adjusting, please be
patient while this operation completes.� That serene voice, that woman
with no emotion, no inflection.       The red lights were obscured by
the smoke, turning them into glowing orbs in the dark. John fell out
onto her, his hands still on the laptop�s keyboard as his body�s weight
took her down with him. Her leg twisted awkwardly as John lay on top of
her. Pain felt superficial in the wake of his death. His corpse was
heavy. The world was heavy. Emma stared up at the lights in the ceiling.
The hum of the fluorescent tubes got quieter somehow as smoke began to
fill the building. It made her eyes water and her lungs hurt. Death was
not swift, death was not kind. The robot said nothing, the room was
filled with the mechanical hum of motors.       The laptop clattered to
the floor in the hallway as John coughed, his fingers curling into her
hips as he held onto her. �Again.�      Sadness mixed with desperation
as she tried to move underneath him, but his weight was too much for
her. John�s head lay on her chest, and she wondered if he could hear her
heartbeat for the first time. She wondered if this was the first loop
where they were together.    She was always a romantic she thought as,
her vision grew darker. Two red lights appeared in the edges of her
vision. The robot was checking to see if they were dead. She squeezed
John who was no longer breathing on top of her. She wasn�t. Not yet.
�I�m nice.� She coughed, hoping to convince the robot to let them live.
�I�m nice, adjust for value.�       The red glow disappeared from her
hazy vision, and she heard it. It sounded like it was on the other end
of a long empty tunnel.       �Adjusting niceness value. Adjusting,
please be patient while this operation completes.� It was so soothing;
why did he program this robot with such a nice voice?       Emma sighed
because it felt so hard to breathe anymore. She heard it now; it was so
faint she was sure she had imagined it. �Don�t do this to Emma, not
again.�       Her eyes fluttered shut. John was warm. How could she have
not noticed how warm he was?       �Mister Edens,� Her eyes snapped open
at the sound; the lecture hall was full. �late again.�       She stood
upright, hitting her hip on the wood edge of the desk. She hissed in
pain, and tried to swallow it quickly. There was no time, she had to
destroy the thing before it destroyed him. She would save him this time,
this loop would be the last loop. What other reason would she have to
experience John Edens� death over and over? She had to stop it.
Her vision was dimmer this time, like she was looking through
binoculars. She ran into each and every desk on the way out of her row,
ignoring her professor�s astonished cries of her name.       �Miss
Chartreuse! Miss Chartreuse! Return to your seat at once!� She clattered
over every desk, each part of her bumping into them painfully at least
once. She knew every bump would bruise, but she didn�t care.       Emma
fell on her hands and knees into the aisle, breathing heavily as she
focused on her fingers. Her vision was blurry and dark. She had to get
to the machine in the closet. She didn�t care how hard it was to see, or
speak anymore. She would save John.       �What is the meaning of this?�
Her professor�s voice called in anger, and she knew the whole lecture
hall had turned to her.       Emma scrambled to her feet, looking up at
John who had made it halfway down the stairs. His eyes were wide; those
black eyes could see through everything, even her plan. �Eh-Eh-Emma,�
his voice was pleading, it was distant.       She bolted out of the
lecture hall; former track star Emma ran as fast as her legs could carry
her over the cool fall grounds of the campus. She had tunnel vision now,
her breathing heavy as she ran faster, her arms swinging, her feet
barely touching the ground as she sprinted towards the once unfamiliar
Mathematics building.        There were cracks in each door, covered
with exams, save for one. A brief thought flittered through her mind,
wondering if the doors were made with cracks, but her eyes widened at
the realization. No, this time she remembered, she remembered each crack
she put in these doors, each time she felt wary of the elevators, each
step of the poorly lit concrete stairwell, the smell of disuse that
accompanied the stairwell, even the multiple cellphones that littered
the first floor. She had been here so many times before. Emma had
watched John die so many loops before. She had died in so many loops
before.        This time the third floor was empty, no smoke settled
over the hallway, no cracks or pops echoed off the walls. The time it
was only her and the death conference robot. She flung open the door,
her breathing heavy. Emma knew that this was going to be the last death
loop, the last time she would choke on smoke. She could end this,
because he had been waiting for her all along.       The last closet on
the left was cracked slightly open and she flung open the door to see
the makeshift lab that John had set up, filled with the hum of computer
fans, the eerie bluish-white glow of computer screens, and the machine,
a tangle of rainbow wires fashioning a crude representation of the
nervous system.       She didn�t know enough about robotics to do this
the right way, so she�d have to do it her way. Emma�s fingers dug into
the wires. Yanking them out one by one, they popped free, making the
same disgusting noise she heard before his death each time. Pop. Crack.
Pop. She saw a bright spark from her lower left, and the whir of the
servo motors as the robot booted up. Two beeps and then the door flung
open.       �Eh-Emma.� John said breathlessly, grabbing the back of her
shirt and pulling her out. �You-You can�t. There�s no-nothing. This is a
memory.�       She felt her body against his; their breathing was in
sync. �No!� She screamed and pushed away from him, attacking the robot
again, her fingers wrapping around an artery of wires and pulling so
hard that her body fell against the floor. She was crying now, tearing
apart the robot with vigor.       �This is a memory, the-the-the�� John
paused, getting on his knees beside her �First memory of the
ma-machines. We-we�re...stuck.�       �St-stuck?� She held up a bundle
of rainbow wires, her fingertips stained black from some muck in the
machine. Her tears blurred her vision. She was sure it was just her
tears.       He took the wires from her hand, his fingers turning black
from the sludge that coated the connectors. �A pa-page
file...dam-damaged, but the ma-machines haven�t no-no-noticed. We�re
ge-getting deleted.� He held her shoulders to keep her from falling on
the floor. That was why everything was degrading so quickly. Her speech,
her vision. This was the end of this loop. This was the end of them
both.       There was a hissing noise, like the static of an old TV, and
the room began to fill with smoke. �No!� She cried. She would save them
both. She had to destroy this machine. They couldn�t delete her if she
deleted them first.       She wished she knew something about robots,
that there was some killswitch that could be activated no matter what.
However, she wasn�t any good at this kind of stuff. If she could do it
one more time, she�d pay attention. The next loop she�d learn how to
stop this. She pulled out more wires; the hissing and popping was loud
as sparks showered from every cord she pulled loose.       �Eh-Emma!
Pluh-Please!� John sounded desperate behind her as he yanked a laptop on
his lap and began to type furiously behind her as she tried to dismantle
the machines. He plugged a black cable into the side, his fingers
slamming against each key.       She looked up in the smoke to see the
two red lights flicker on. Was there no destroying this blasted machine?
Emma turned to John behind her, but he was blurry in all the smoke. Her
hand reached out for him, but missed. His eyes widened and his hand left
his laptop to grasp for hers.       �Adjusting niceness value.
Adjusting, please be patient while this operation completes.� He was too
far away to touch; her fingers couldn�t quite reach. She had to destroy
this robot, and she could save John, that�s all that mattered now. She
could save both of them if she could just destroy this robot. Why wasn�t
there something she knew from her useless engineering classes to help
her?   She heard the creak of a door and then a clatter. She knew that
noise, someone had come through the stairwell. They were saved! Someone
could save them from this smoke!       John�s eyes glowed in the light
of the laptop. He was looking through her, just like he looked through
everything. Everything seemed to fade away, and all that was left was
his eyes. They glowed. They expressed so much pain, so much regret. How
many times had he witnessed this very scene?       The robot spoke, a
soothing voice in all the calamity. �Swap.�       It was so blinding
that it hurt even when she closed her eyes. It felt like someone had
turned on the sun a few inches away from her face. She gripped the wires
forcefully; they were her last tether to humanity. A rainbow danced
behind her eyes and there was an incredible lightness. She felt
weightless as the light enveloped her. This was death, and she was sure
she had finally suffocated on the smoke in the small broom closet with
John Edens, a tutor turned confidante. A warm person she had missed in
the crowd. �A man that she barely knew, but had experienced so much
with. A looper like her.     �Next.� It was the robot�s voice again and
Emma opened her eyes to see to stare at white tile beneath her feet. She
was in line for Heaven; this had to be the afterlife. Emma looked up,
squeezing her hand into a fist, digging her nails into the palm of her
hand to assure herself that she could feel pain. She did.      �Doctor
Chartreuse,� the robot said. �Please step forward to the window.�
Heaven had flourescent lights, she noted, looking upwards before
stepping towards the window. A portly woman stood in a white blouse and
pencil skir with her hand glued to a mouse. Her CRT flickered, nd she
could see the reflection in the woman�s dead eyes. �Adjusted again, Miss
Chartreuse?� The robot�s voice was in the body of a woman. Fear rushed
through her, and Emma forgot to breathe. �Adjusted?� Emma looked around
the room to see that she was not the only one in line for Heaven; in
fact, Heaven�s waiting room was not white and cloudy, but rather dingy.
She was one of many; they held tickets and waited to get to the window
to meet many clones of the woman who stood behind the glass. This was
not Heaven. This was some kind of office. She shuffled forward.
�It seems like your value has gone down again, but you always get a
special pass because of your Pee-Eye-Dee number being so low.� The woman
behind the glass tut-tutted her, but each syllable made her body tense
in fear. She had the voice of the robot; it was unmistakable. �Processes
like you don�t need so much��      �People. I�m a person.� Emma
insisted.  �It�s all the same these days, ain�t it? Thanks to dear
Master Edens.� She heard the whine of a printer, and the woman behind
the glass pulled out a piece of paper and then an orange pamphlet.
�We�ll always make exceptions for you, Doctor Emma.�   Slid underneath
the small hole cut in the plexiglass counter was a receipt and a trifold
pamphlet, which had a laughing family on the front in grayscale and in
black text on the top: You�re Valued! A Comprehensive Guide.    Their
fingers touched and she marvelled at how cold the woman on the other
side of the glass was. She looked at the receipt. PID 3 - Emma
Chartreuse - Robotics Engineer - Disk 0x82 - Value 46 �       �Try to
get your niceness value up next time, Emma Chartreuse. A nice process is
a good process.�       �Person,� she corrected. Emma stepped away from
the counter, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. She flipped over the
pamphlet to see another grayscale image, a familiar image. John. His
bowl cut was frozen in history.   �Next process, please.� The voice was
serene in the waiting room of the office; no one spoke, no one breathed,
the only other sound was the hum of fluorescent lights.  Her vision was
clouded by tears; it was hard to make out the small text underneath his
smiling picture with his signature bowl cut: In Memoriam: Machina
Founder John Edens.    She bit her lip to stop the tears from falling.
No matter how hard she had tried to destroy the machine before it
destroyed them, he had been right. There was nothing she could have done
to save his life. They were trapped in a memory that could not be
changed. He was dead, well and truly dead, and she had watched him die
so many times. Gods, but the machines were so cruel to take him from
her!        She hardly knew him, but felt like she had spent a lifetime
with him. She thought that if she just fought a little harder, changed
one more thing in that loop, it�d be fixed, and he could fix her grades
afterwards. Then they could get coffee together, maybe become friends
despite everything. In Memoriam. She flipped the pamphlet back over to
the smiling family. She couldn�t look at him anymore. She couldn�t look
at the man she let die.       In Memoriam. John told her before they
parted that it was the first memory of the machines. Was it her first
memory too? She couldn�t remember ever liking engineering enough to
become one, let alone a robotics engineer. Emma furrowed her brow as she
walked out of the waiting room.        The whir of a servo startled her
as she exited the brick building and saw a sphere rushing towards her;
it seemed to float in the air without any type of propulsion. She
shielded her face, but it stopped a foot away from her. A circular light
emanated from the center, �Doctor Emma: a new message has arrived!�
It�s robot voice, an over-compressed digital facsimile of a man�s voice,
distorted fragments of sound infused in every syllable, spoke. �We�ve
definitely gotten out of the loop, meet me at death con. We need to sync
up. Dash Noticed.�      Emma looked down at the picture of a supposedly
deceased John and looked at the floating orb who had read out her email.
Maybe In Memoriam had a different meaning in this world.       �It�s
Defcon.� She corrected her robot, folding her receipt into the orange
pamphlet. �And don�t read the dash out loud, it�s weird.�   �Defcon
added to dictionary,� the robot replied and bobbed in the air, whirring
and rattling �New information received: Niceness value adjusted. Doctor
Emma, if Pee-Eye-Dee Zero notices your value fluctuations, there will be
exceptions! If it is too low, you will be killed!�     �Trust me, I know
someone who�s an expert on not being noticed.�       There were some
people you weren�t meant to notice. There were some people your eyes
just moved over through a crowd. She tilted her head down and started
down the sidewalk behind the hovering robot. There were some processes
you weren�t meant to notice. There were some processes that you don�t
know are running. She was content with being in the background, as long
as she could find John again.       And as long as John was running, so
was she.