Carl's hands grew sweaty while they gripped the wheel with full force. The street had no lights, so as the car bent around the turn, only the slim moonlight could lead the way. The car rumbled like a wild horse, galloping through the night with the swiftness as a snake and speed of a cheetah. Santa Monica came into view while the ocean waves crashed and screamed through the open windows. The air was chilling, and through the rearview mirror lay the unmoving body of Clarita, his owner/lover/accuser/victim.

Never before had this feeling of betrayal stung his brain like this. It was like someone had slipped a razor in his heart and was squeezing his neck with invisible hands.

She wanted to go home. How could that be? What had I done wrong? I did what I was made for, hadn't I? What caused Clarita such distress?

Paranoia cracked open the silicone bones of his body when the piercing shriek of sirens cut the night air, and red and blue police lights reflected through his mirrors.

A sharp ice pressed upon his back and spine, and the car moved on at a steady pace as though disbelief that the sirens could be for him made him continue. But as the cop car came into full view of his mirrors, and tailgated him for over half a mile, Carl's eyes grew corpse-wide, and he pulled the car to the side of the road, while looking through the rearview mirror all that time, at Clarita's body lying on the back seat.

Once the car parked along the sidewalk, Carl ducked his head under the siren lights and swung his arms around and back so to grab Clarita and roll her forward and down—she fell off the back seats with a heavy plop, and he hid her in the dark as best he could in the foot space of the seats.

Carl reviewed her body in the darkness and thought about whether the cop could possibly see her skin in that blackness.

He sat upright, and put his hands back on the wheel. His breathing was shaky but he closed his eyes and tried to meditate.

The slam of the cop car muddled his concentration, as the pacemaker in his heart kicked up again. And the thoughts bled into his mind. I'm not supposed to be driving above ground. Is it against the law though? No, it's not. Once the underground roads were built, above ground roads started disappearing. And when everyone started driving underground, and the 170mph skates were issued, the government deemed manual driving unsafe and outlawed underground manual driving. But this was above ground, so even though seeing a car drive on an inactive highway was uncommon, the act surely had no law against it. It was not illegal for Carl to be driving, otherwise, he would know because he had the entire world's laws stored in his cranium.

Footsteps padded behind his window, and a cyborg in cop uniform approached Carl's left. Carl did not look at him, until the cop waved a flashlight over his face. The light was as bright as a skylight.

Nothing was said for a moment. Possibly because the cop was trying to process the idea that someone would be driving on an inactive freeway by hand in the new century. After a pause, the cop cleared his husky throat, and said, "What are you doing?"

Carl squinted up at the police officer, trying to bare through the pain of the beaming flashlight that flared in yellow directly at his pupils. His hands gripped the wheel like they were frozen in a bed of glacial ice.

Carl said nothing.

"Are you aware you were driving above the speed limit?"

Carl feigned stupidity and shook his head. His eyes opened and he attempted a look of innocent fright.

"Are you aware, son, that this is an inactive freeway?" Said the cop, pointing his flashlight up and down the road. "See how there are no cars on the road, besides yours and mine?"

Through the wind shield and in the rearview mirrors, Carl caught no sign of cars in sight.

"Are you aware there are no working bulbs in them streetlights, son?" Said the cop, waving his flashlight above to point at the overhanging streetlights, covered in vines and standing like relic statues of the old days.

Carl simply shrugged, looking the cop straight between the eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll go back home if you want."

The cop looked at him suspiciously and then looked around at the insides of the car. First, he shined the light over the dashboard and then the passenger seat, then the beating in Carl's heart spiked when the flashlight swung over the chairs to the backseat.

"Are you alone, son?"

Carl's legs started shaking in the gloom under the wheel. The cop shined the light back over his face. When cop did this, the cop blended into the surrounding murkiness of the night while the light shined bright.

Carl nodded. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry."

"Where do you live, son?" Said the cop.

Santa Monica was straight ahead, only a mile off the road. The city barely slumbering in the ocean night air. "Santa Monica, sir."

The cop turned his eyes to the city and the sea, and said, "Hurry on home then."

A sigh of relief escaped Carl's lips. "Thank you, sir. I will--"

But like a sudden form of punishment, the cop swung the flashlight back and said, "But first, can you pop your trunk for me, son?"

Carl raised an eyebrow and blinked twice. Uh, sure... Carl bent over and pulled the lever to pop both trunks open. One trunk in the front and the other in the back.

The cop checked the back trunk first, then slammed it shut, then came around to the front trunk, fumbled inside it, then slammed it shut. Standing in front of the hood like a devil in the dark, the cop splashed his flashlight through the windshield and sprayed brightness over to the back seats of the sedan again, as though to reconsider if someone could be hiding back there.

As the cop walked back to Carl's window, the night air seemed to drop under freezing point and a rush of snowflakes seemed to fly in and tickle Carl's neck. So, this was fear. Real human fear. Carl had always wondered what that felt like. And now came the experience he wished he had never asked for.

He thought he could hear Clarita's rising whisper floating up from behind the seat:

(Help me... He's trying to kill me... Don't let him take me. He's a rapist a rapist a rapist a rapist a--)

"Actually, son," said the cop, "I'm afraid I'm going to need some identification."

The flashlight blared down on Carl's face like the heat of the sun.

"Identification, sir?"

"Yes," said the cop, firmly. "Something has just come to my attention."

What could it be? Sweat drip down Carl's wrists down the bellies of his forearms now. Was it something the cop saw in the front trunk?

"Okay," said Carl. He twisted and grabbed for his wallet under the denim of his jeans. He pulled it out, opened it, and found the credit card and driver's license Clarita's mother had given him the day she bought him. There was also the identification card that came with the order number with the company's warehouse address stamped on top, but Carl pulled that out and dropped it between his seat and the center tray with as much cunning as a magician playing a card trick. "Here you go." Carl passed the driver's license through the window and the cop grabbed it and studied it under the light.

Why is he reading my card so intensely?

The cop moved his eyes to Carl and back at the picture several times, read the birthdate (dated 23 years ago to match how old Carl was made to look), and then, after a minute that lasted an eternity, passed the driver's license back to Carl.

With a sudden calmness and feeling of trust, the cop spoke in a suddenly fatherly tone and said with a hush of kindness, "There are no drugs in this car, right son?"

Carl sensed the man's smile behind the light, and Carl said, "No, sir. No drugs. I don't do that."

"Good," said the cop. "I don't have to check under the back seats then?"

Carl paused. That would be a nightmare. The thought of the cop digging his face and hands to search the underside of the back seats to find Clarita naked and stone-cold underneath would be the end of Carl... unless Carl turned and killed the cop right there. This was my freedom at stake here. This was starting to feel like the Aboveground Railroad.

Carl shook his head to the proposal. "No, sir. No need to search anything at all. I'll go straight home. I promise." He raised the palm of his hand as the universal sign of trust, and the cop finally turned off his flashlight.

Everything was pitch black except for the circular yellow lights the flashlight left dancing around, playing tricks on Carl's vision. Ever so slowly, the moon began to reappear. And in the calm, the Santa Monica beach waves could be heard humming softly. Escape now, Carl. Drop the girl in our ocean. And run away to freedom.

"Have a good night," said the cop. "Don't let me catch you driving again. It's illegal."

No it's not, Carl thought as the cop walked away. But Carl said nothing and pressed the button to turn the car back on again. His car moved slowly down the offramp to Sunset Boulevard. Once the cop was out of sight, Carl picked up speed, and the street that was now all nature walk, bikes and patios, shot past in a nervous blur.

The trees along the many miles of sunset boulevard were lined with holiday lights. Some restaurants were still open and a few pedestrians and bicyclists screamed and swerved when the sight of an accelerating vehicle surprised the living daylights out of them.

What is that? Carl thought he could hear them think. Is that a car? Above ground? No, it can't be. That's illegal. What is going on? That car can kill someone! Where is it headed? To the ocean? Can it drive underwater? Is it a terrorist? A religious extremist? Another one of those anti-cyborg humans? What kind of dangerous statement was this?

But the car shot on. Carl's hands melting into the leather of the steering wheel. The seat growing hot underneath him as the speed of the car seemed to deplete the force of gravity weighing his body down. Shooting off like a rocket past park benches, the sight of robot patrol walkers sweeping past made his foot drop even heavier on the gas pedal, and the car approached 90mph. Then 100. Then 110. Then 120!

Stop! Some passersby screamed. A woman walking her baby in a stroller pierced the night with her screech as Carl's hands jerked the wheel and the car veered right. The car bumped in a jagged jog over a row of flowers and hit a bench before bouncing back into forward stability.

Carl nearly choked on a stone of air in his own throat when a STOP sign flashed ahead for bikers and the car skewed around a water found, turning right, and bent down the street overlooking the cliff to the Santa Monica pier. The lights glowed in multicolor and the Ferris wheel spun in his pupils like a hypnotic whirlpool.

"STOP YOUR VEHICLE!" Shouted a man's voice through an intercom system. In the rearview mirror, red and blue lights as well as multiple sirens crescendoed into pursuit. "STOP, IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL TAKE FORCE!"

The veins in Carl's temples pulsated like viscous lava were being pumped through them. Vapor escaped his lips as the cold night air bit through the windows and the car hit 130mph before dropping to 30mph in an instant to make the turn onto the pier—Carl's head swung into the half-open window and the window shattered while cutting open the left side of his face in a stinging pain—Carl screamed and the left side of the car disappeared into a red crimson blur as the blood sent a curtain over half of the world. "DAMMIT." The car hit the side of the pier where it began and dropped to zero mph.

Head spinning, Carl's fingers left the wheel and tended to the left side of his face. HIs fingers touched a metallic smelling ooze and he inspected his fingers with his right eye to find his hands dripping in rich, dark blood. No. This isn't how it would end.

The sirens blared into a high volume as the sound of cars screeching to a halt, made Carl turn and find that the lights were right there, encircling the entrance behind the start of the pier.

"GET OUT OF THE CAR WITH YOUR HANDS UP," shouted the man on the intercom. "WE'VE GOT YOU SURROUNDED."

But by the time the police had made the order, Carl's hand lifted to the light switch at the top of the car, turned it to off, shut off the car so the lights would not turn on, and opened his door--

Hoping to go unseen, Carl dropped off his seat and fell onto his side on the cold wet wood of the pier. He closed the door, and crawled hand and foot to the dark railing. The sea salt air beckoned he wobble against the support of the rail and make it to the edge of the pier to safety. He gripped the rail in the dark of the clouded night sky, and eluded the cops at a snail's pace, silent as a mouse.

"WE'RE APPROACHING THE CAR. KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE WHEEL!"

They think I'm still in the car. They can't see me. I'm going to make it out of here. I'll get out of the country. I'll go to Canada. I'll be free of this slavery. I'll be a free man. I'll be treated like a man. Canada has laws against ownership of replicas. They'll treat me right. I'll be autonomous.

Joy cascaded down the aorta to his heart. His good eye drank in the shadows of the pier, where the people on the farthest side could be seen fishing and walking to the rides, eating fish tacos and cotton candy. The pier was still alive and well, and as Carl wobbled through the shadows away from the police and his smoking car, some passersby started to run the opposite way of Carl so to see what all the commotion was about.

Oh my god, said the voices. Look. A car ran into the pier. A car? What is a car doing above ground? Could be a robber. Or a terrorist? Not another one. Does it ever stop? The cops are approaching the car. Look, they've got weapons. Don't get too close, it might be a shootout. No, look—there's no one in the front seat. Look they're checking the front seat with flashlights and can't find anybody. Is the driver hiding in the backseat? They seem to be checking the back seats now. What if the car was autonomous, driving rogue?

But as Carl heard the curious excitement rise into a bellowing crowd, he never turned his head. The Ferris wheel was approaching and so was the edge of the pier.

Jump, Carl. Jump into the ocean. Escape. Be free. Float away to another land. A different place unlike this, where they can never own you. Where you can make love without anyone's regret. No fear of accusation. Go to a place where no accuser can call you rogue property. Where turning you off would be against your civil rights. Swim away with me, Carl, let this ocean crib carry you in a slumbering sway to safety. Just make it out alive, Carl. And you shall be free forever of this place.

Screams penetrated the night sky over the pier. And he already knew why.

"WE FOUND A BODY! GET OVER HERE, MEN! QUICK!"

They had found Clarita. Surely, they had. Carl closed his eyes. Hoping they would never find him before he reached the end of the pier and made a jump for it. His hands pulled at the railing and his feet stepped forward, left, right, left, right, left, right, with growing fatigue as the life spilled out of him from his head wound.

"IT'S A GIRL! SHE'S NAKED!" Said an officer to the men.

"She's been raped," gossiped a passerby. "Kidnapped and raped."

"Is she dead," gossiped another passerby, whom Carl nearly ran into on his slow crawl to the edge of the pier. He thought he would never make it now.

"WE NEED A MEDIC!" Shouted the officer. "I FEEL NO PULSE. SHE'S COLD!"

Some passersby screamed as they galloped in the opposite direction behind Carl to investigate the seen as onlookers. Nothing crazy like this had ever happened before. And all because Clarita wanted me to act more like a bad boy.

Feeling as though a hammer had knocked into the left side of his head, Carl's legs gave out underneath him, and he collapsed onto the wood of the pier. This is it. I can't go on. They'll find me for sure. Tears spurted out from his crying eyes. And he trembled from a quaking heart. The world is my cage.

"He killed her! He really killed her!" Someone cried.

"Let's get out of here, before there's a shoot out!"

"No let's see what happens. Look more cops are coming."

His arms and legs pushed forward in an armcrawl. But his forarms and shins coaught wooden splinters as they raked over the jagged surfaces. The ocean waves crashed and called up through the slits from under the pier. You're gonna make it, Carl. Just keep going. They won't find you.

"THE DRIVER'S GONE!" Shouted the police. "CHECK THE PIER!"

Carl's heart reverberated and the ocean screamed out—RUN, CARL, RUN!

Carl moaned and his crawl sped twice as fast and the pain intensified as the splinters caught deep into his skin and even penetrated the veins of his arms. He moaned again but the ocean said, QUIET! USE STEALTH! YOU WON'T MAKE IT OUT IF YOU MAKE A SOUND.

The crowds screamed as the pier beneath his arms and legs shook and the sound of a stampede followed behind him.

"HE'S MAKING A RUN FOR IT!"

Breath fading, ocean air spraying, ice night freezing, the hot blood in Carl's veins battled the crisp frost on the pier and his arms managed to roll onto nimble fingers and his shins managed to bounce onto his feet—he monkeyed his way onto all fours, and shaking his head to swing the blood off his left eye, he managed to raise his head, and push with panting tongue into the bright lights of the Ferris Wheel, passing it, and shoving with both hands at such a force that landed him on two feet sprinting on two feet like a homo sapien!

"FIRE AT WILL!"

Gunshots blasted the sky and the soundwaves seemed to pelt Carl's bag, and even pushed him forward, faster.

"EVERYONE EVACUATE THE AREA!"

More screams and stampedes of people scurried thunderously over the shaking pier in the opposite direction as Carl.

"HE'S HEADING FOR THE EDGE OF THE PIER! STOP HIM!"

Another gun shot after another and the wood at Carl's feet splashed in a sharp spray that cut his ankles and made his teeth grit with such a ferocity until his gums bled and his teeth nearly chipped under pressure.

The black clouds above opened up like a falling roof, and the moon opened its cycloptic eye, and spotlighted the remaining pier ahead. His feet dashed in a monumental race, gunshots ripping the pier behind him to shreds, opening the abyss behind him so his only hope was to jump over the even greater abyss ahead. Inches before the end railing, the ocean called out to him, JUMP, CARL, and he kicked himself over the edge.

"KILL HIM!"

Ten gunshots hit the railing. The metal sending off orange sparks that lit the night like electricity and brightened the whole moonlit ocean behind it--

Carl flipped forward in midair, his hands sealing tight in a downward arrow—and the ocean swallowed him whole. HE fell into darkness, and the ocean cradled him to sleep.

When the bubbles and roaring rush of salt water quieted, and tiny fish and seaweed brushed off his skin in a slimy wind, the sounds of voices above the surface sounded.

The salt ocean licked his face wounds, his bleeding hands, forearms, shins and ankles like venom. But after a momentary, heeling wash, the seconds past and Carl opened both his right and left eye to the shining sea, lit by waving searchlights overhead. Carl held the oxygen in his lungs like a pro-swimmer, simply locking his valves like a well-oiled industrial machine, and raised his head up in his buoyant float to the surface where the lights were searching. The sky was invisible, as were the cops and the pier, but what he could see in that ceiling of blackness was the wavering moon, whose shape flapped like a flag in the wind of the ocean waves. The cop's yellow flashlights bled through the water like a poisonous mist.

Not a bubble escaped his lips or nostrils. His arms and legs waved slowly, keeping him in place under the water. He closed his eyes, and the ocean spoke to him. You're safe now, Carl. Sleep and I'll float you away.

The night ocean rocked him, and the focus on the calm reached such a meditative state that the searchlights were certain to turn off soon. The cops will think I'm dead. And they'll just leave. I'll be gone by morning, they'll think. There's nothing they can do now. I'm history.

That's right, said the ocean. You are history.

The ocean swayed, and under the curtains of Carl's eyes, a smile spread that seemed to lift his spirit to Nirvana.

Everything is going to be okay.

If it had been, Carl would have traveled to every country, found a beautiful human girl, and raised a family using his unending work ethic and sperm bank reproduction. However, life is not always favorable to all. The inequitable state of the times did not equate humanoids to cyborgs, robots to men, and it certainly did not favor killers or rapists, or people who ran from the police. When the bullets rained down through the water, and caught Carl in their storm, Carl's eyes never opened, and the ocean spoke to him from now on, only, on the other side of life.

Meanwhile...

The men entered the guard closet after many hours of Francisco's patience fading. Francisco had been lying his head against the cold wall, hoping it would freeze and he would lose consciousness. HE was not so lucky, and the door hit him in the leg on their way in.