“Please no break el aspiradora!” Wilkes said, and was incredibly pleased with herself for dredging up the Spanish word for vacuum cleaner. Who knew ninth-grade Spanish would be useful someday?

“I’m not going to break anything,” Bug Man said heatedly. “Unless you keep from closing this damn door.”

“Chinga tu madre!” Wilkes snapped, and gave him the finger.

He closed the door. He locked it. And for good measure he manhandled a large potted fern over to block it.

Then he sat down at his twitcher station, breathed deep, and never even considered that three biots— two of Vincent’s originals and one new fourth-generation version—were racing from his wrist up his forearm.

Nijinsky was left behind with Billy and Burnofsky.

“What do you think, kid?” Nijinsky asked him. “We don’t have time to build you a biot right now, but we happen to have a whole bunch of unused nanobots. Want to see the inside of a degenerate murderer’s brain?”

Billy picked up the goggles and the glove.

“The first thing you need if you’re wiring someone is a plan,” Nijinsky said. He poured himself a short shot from the vodka bottle. “A plan?”

“Yeah,” Nijinsky said, and threw the shot down his throat. “What

is it we want to do to Mr Burnofsky here? We want him to change his mind. We want him to change sides. We want betrayal from Mr Burnofsky.”

Billy shrugged.

“We have here a drug addict, a drunk. Hates himself, you know. Isn’t that right, Burnofsky?”

“You’re too weak to lead but tough enough to take on a helpless

old man,” Burnofsky said.

Nijinsky nodded. “Yeah, that’s about rig

ht. I would never have had

the strength to murder my own daughter on orders from some freaks.

Yeah, that’s strength, right? And then rather than own what you’ve done

and who you are, you decide it’s time to kill everyone in the world.” Nijinsky touched a finger to Burnofsky’s eye. Billy gasped as

through nanobot eyes he saw his first biot. Nijinsky translated into

biot was not nearly as handsome.

“Ever hear of the nucleus accumbens, Billy?”

“No sir.”

“Well, some people call it the pleasure center. That’s a bit simplis

tic, but it’s not far wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“So, here’s my idea,” Nijinsky said. “We reverse things. See, now

every time he thinks about what he did, he feels self-loathing. He

hates himself for it. So he self-medicates and then he turns it all outward into hatred. So we change that.”

Tags: Michael Grant BZRK Science Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net