Crack

“Control,” he screamed, swatting the drones away and banging on the glass door panel. “Open the sealing door!” He pressed himself against the glass, but still couldn't avoid the spinning, razor-sharp cutters slicing and biting his back.

Snit-snit-snit-snit…

With his mind wrapped in a blanket of medication, he struggled to think of the number of the branch he’d fallen onto. “Fifteen! Open door fifteen!”

—You’re on fourteen, Boss. Four-teen.—

“Fourteen! Open fourteen!”

The tiny monsters ebbed and circled around the branches in a starling wave, scanning the plants and coordinating their harvest. As soon as they turned back, their down-swarm would rip him to shreds.

“Open all the doors! Open all the doors on tower three!” He smashed his fist against the door, praying with every impact that the safety glass would give way before the drones dropped again.

“Safety procedures require you to confirm—”

“Screw your fucking safety procedures! Open the goddamn doors!”

The hissing reached a crescendo, and the swarm dropped, submerging him in a world of slicing, biting pain. Defeated, he fell to his knees, curled in a ball and pressed himself as close to the glass as he could. The droid attached to his belt dug into his side, and an idea flashed through his mind.

He stood up into the swarm, ripped the droid from his belt, and smashed its hard body against the door’s thick glass, as fast and as hard as his sedated muscles would allow. Cracks splintered the door, but his motions confused the drones’ delicate algorithms, drawing more toward him. His violent actions activated the implant, its mini-medicine factory working overtime, pumping more sedative into his body. Assailed from outside and within, he collapsed against the cracked glass.

Slipping into unconsciousness, a whistle of a rising wind filled his ears, muffling the sound of the drones. His brother’s nasty voice spat into his mind.

{Do it, little bro. Finish the job.}

Everything around him blurred and pain faded from his immediate sensory field. Slapped awake by the closeness of the voice, he clenched his fist around the broken droid. He stepped back among the spinning blades, numb to the cuts and tears in his skin, and dove, droid held in front of him, through the cracked door.

Shattering the glass, he landed on the floor in a shower of falling shards. Confused by the motion, the drones swarmed in, bouncing off the chamber walls and ceiling in a deadly ricochet. He rolled back onto his feet and sprinted toward the waiting lift. With one final burst of anger-fueled energy, he dove again and crashed into the lift corner, tumbled over, and kicked the close button. The lift door slid shut behind him.

Just as sudden as it emerged, the rage left him, disappearing under the haze of the implant’s massive dose. Confused drones smacked their little heads against the outer door, their tiny razor-sharp blades snipping at the safety glass.

Spiking out of his sedation, pain screamed through his shoulders and tore through his back. Warm blood trickled from his fingertips onto the lift floor. Exhausted, he slumped onto his hands and knees, and threw up.

“Dirk here,” came a gruff, human voice through his visor. “What’s the problem?”

Andre could not respond. Deep in his bones, his anger shifted and pushed against the implant’s chemical cage. He wondered–not for the first time–if the implant was strong enough to keep the dark thing restrained forever.

As the lift slid down the trunk shaft, he floated inside his body, his mind submerging deeper under the heavy fog of medication, and his thoughts retreated to the deep recesses of his memory.