She hated the way he stroked her fur with his cold, chrome-plated fingers, calling her his "good little monster." She hated the way he fed her the still-warm hearts of his rivals, watching with detached curiosity as she crunched the organic matter mixed with circuitry. She hated that she was bound to him not by love, but by a kill-switch embedded in her cybernetic spine. One press of a button on his wrist-comp, and she'd seize, then burn out like a blown fuse.
But even a king needs a court, and every court has its fool. Or, in this case, its hound. kingpouge laika
Kingpouge froze. His hand twitched toward his wrist-comp. She hated the way he stroked her fur
No one knew his real name. Some said he was a disgraced bio-engineer from the Ulan-Zone; others whispered he was the first successful fusion of human and AI consciousness, gone rogue. What was known was this: Kingpouge controlled the flow of memory-drugs, illegal cyber-augments, and stolen dreams through the city's seventeen subterranean levels. He was ruthless, precise, and utterly without mercy. But even a king needs a court, and every court has its fool
Laika tilted her head. Then, for the first time in seven years, she spoke. Not barks or growls, but a low, synthesized voice, scratchy as radio static.
The turning point came on the night of the Red Eclipse, when the city's particulate moon turned the color of rust. A rival syndicate, the Silk Worms, launched a full-scale assault on Kingpouge's spire. Plasma fire melted the rain mid-fall. Screams echoed up from the lower levels. Kingpouge, calm as still water, stood on his balcony, watching his kingdom burn.