Xenoman

32 Synth Rebellion

Andrea stopped short in the crowd, angry as she was, honing in on Xeno's cry for help. Across the sea of mind-merged couples, she caught a snippet of Xeno's face in the laser light, eyes bulging, trying to wrestle free from the headless synth, the meaty fingers wrapped around his throat. She made her way back through crowd, back towards Xeno, weaving couples joined at the palms and forehead, swaying like human kelp on the dance floor, their conscious minds surrendered to Hollymonde's "Crucy Fix" 5-track, with all new cathedral constructs, music video scavenger hunts, sensory-hormone release prizes, downloading in the privacy of your own skull, expanding ever further into hidden trance-tracks, and the exotic behind the scenes directress's cut.

The bullet came out of nowhere—a hole in her sternum, a burst of spray on her chin. Andrea stumbled back, gazing in disbelief at the luminescent Impostible fluid pouring out of her chest wound, staining her wedding dress. Within seconds, she looked like she had been doused with luminous anti-freeze, her knees giving way, the tiara, glittering in the laser light, sinking out of sight in the crowd, going, going, gone . . .

"Xeno!" Gary cried from the studio, trying to make sense of Xeno's POV camera coverage, jerking from side to side on the POV Monitor, spinning towards Holly onstage, the chorus line appearing sideways, aiming their toy rifles into the audience, then the entire screen full of wool sweater, the headless synth's severed neck, the lens swerving down to the floor, then up at the lights, the floor, the lights, the floor, the lights. . . "What the hell is going on?!"

"Gary, I need back up!" Xeno kicked at the headless synth, trying to knee him in the pelvis, trying to wrestle free from the torque of his grip, his face turning scarlet, spittle dribbling from his teeth, wondering if he had a hell's chance with this brute, just as Lew had struggled to break free from Estro's grip. But Lew had the gun. All he had was the measly steak knife. He reached for it anyways, feeling around his waist with his fingers, finding the handle sticking out, between his belt strap and pants, and did exactly what he didn't want to do. Knowing he had the object in his grasp, his neuromuscular coordination moved on, traveled elsewhere, like the time he was chatting it up at some dinner party, holding up a glass of wine, and the glass just . . . slipped from his fingertips . . . for no apparent reason, with no foreshadowing of the event, crashing to the table, the red stain fanning out across the snow white tablecloth—he felt the knife bank off his pant leg. A burst of white spray on his face.

The headless synth's fingers retracted from Xeno's throat, like a gentle mistake, letting him fall to the ground, into the safety of legs, and darkness. Xeno spotted the steak knife near a pair of feet, grabbed it, and held the blade out towards the headless synth's legs, lumbering towards him. Stunned by another bullet ripping through his shoulder blade, the headless synth changed course, swerving towards the chorus line, stomping past Xeno. The monstrous figure knocked his way through the audience, rushing the stage, bullets perforating his breast plate, spilling porcelain fluid onto his sweater, dripping down the folds of his pants, over his shoes, puddling behind him on the floor. With his arms thrust out, grabbing at nothing, he wobbled to a standstill, drained of locomotive strength, and toppled out of sight.

Xeno crouched in the shadows, glimpsing the killer chorus line, aiming their their toy guns into the crowd, firing authentic ammunition, the gunshots muffled by gruesome suppressors, a random whizzing overhead, bullets splintering telepanes, blowing out spotlights, shattering glass panels in the atrium ceiling. The shooters appeared confused with their own behavior, aiming in cock-eyed directions, as if trained to point and shoot without knowing why.

Holly hustled up the ramp to the pleasure dome, opened the hatch and sealed herself inside. She peered through the tinted glass windshield watching Le Strange wobble backstage in a frenzy. Members of the chorus line flipped around towards the fleeing band members and opened fire, blasting off portions of Le Strange's crustacean-themed costumes, shattering the faux alien fish tanks, flooding the stage with water and flopping animatronic sea creatures.