Inga

Ivan led Inga down the stairs into the basement level, and they headed for the red door. A different group of Molenski’s men sat around laughing and smoking now. The afternoon shift. They became silent when they spied the two approaching. When they were close enough, the silence turned to wolf whistles and catcalls.

Ivan glowered.

Led by the cocky Danny Garcia, the five men stood and came across to meet them. Garcia circled to get a better view of the pretty girl, who smiled at them one by one, drawing sniggers from some of them.

“Hey big man,” said Garcia. He was only 28 but since Andre’s shift had finished at midday, he was the most senior of the guards on duty. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your pretty friend?”

“She’s not my friend,” growled Ivan, looking down at him like he was a piece of dog shit on the end of his shoe. “She’s Mr. Molenski’s friend, so fuck off.”

“Hey, chill man. Just being friendly. Hey chica, what’s your name?”

“My name is Inga. I am fuckable.”

This brought gales of laughter from the men. Ivan’s jaw clenched.

“Damn! You sure are, ain’t she boys? Oh, but you must have been naughty if you’re heading to the Red Room. What did you do, Chica?” He asked, looking her up and down and then grabbed his crotch.

Suddenly Ivan’s hand snatched him by the throat and pulled him close. Garcia sputtered, his eyes bulging as he tried to pry the big man’s fingers off his neck.

“I said fuck off…” Ivan said, through gritted teeth.

None of the others moved to help Garcia; they were too frightened of Molenski to mess with Ivan.

Instead, aid came from a surprising source.

Inga’s hand fell on Ivan’s shoulder and pinch his trapezius muscle between her fingers. While gentle, they held the promise of pain.

“Myfriend, please release this person, or I will be forced to disable you and alert local law enforcement.”

He looked at her, dumbfounded, then remembered.

…or by inaction allow a human to come to harm.

He pushed and released Garcia at the same time, and the smaller man fell to the concrete floor, spluttering for air as two of his friends helped him to his feet.

“You’ll pay for that you dumb Russian fuck!”

Ivan ignored him and stalked to the red door, opening it and waving Inga by. He slammed the door so hard it shook the door frame. He was angry. Angry at himself and, even though he wouldn’t have admitted it, hurt at Inga’s intervention.

What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s just a fucking machine.

Her intervention had driven that fact home hard. He was nothing to her.

“You will stand in that corner,” he snapped and pointed to the far corner of the room.

As angry as he was at himself and her, he couldn’t bring himself to make her sit in the chair. The same chair that Molenski had pasted that poor bastard’s cock and balls over earlier.

“Yes, Myfriend.”

“You will wait there until Mr. Molenski comes.”

“Are you upset with me, Myfriend?”

His eyes widened.

“What? Nyet. Go! Stand in the corner.”

She looked at him a few seconds longer as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“Yes, Myfriend.”

She turned and walked past the bloodstains on the concrete floor to the corner and then turned to face the room, her eyes falling on him again. He ignored her and went to the bench and retrieved Molenski’s toolbox before carrying it to the table in the center of the room.

Ivan’s eyes found the hammer. Its iron head was clean now, but a bloody fingerprint, stark against the yellow of the handle, was telling.

He looked up at the pretty girl in the corner. Machine or not, she didn’t deserve what was coming. Didn’t deserve to be Molenski’s victim of torture. He remembered the way she had touched the bruise on her chin. She had felt pain and to her it was real. He felt his anger melt away.

He walked to her, drinking in her beauty and wondered if he would be able to recognize her the next day when Molenski had finished with her… or if she would even be alive –operational; he corrected himself.

She smiled radiantly as he approached.

“Myfriend.”

“Yes,” he said gently. “I…”

He didn’t know what to say. After all the damage and death he had seen done to real humans in this room, why was he so affected by a damn machine?

“Yes, Myfriend? Do you wish to communicate?”

He shook his head helplessly.

“No. I am going now. That’s all.”

“Yes. I shall wait for Dimi. Goodbye, Myfriend.”

Ivan suddenly found it difficult to think and escaped the room in a hurry. He rested against the closed door after he had exited and took a few seconds to calm himself.

“Looks like someone’s got the hots for the boss’s next victim,” said Garcia, before taking a deep drag on a cigarette.

Ivan took a step towards him and was rewarded when the loudmouth tensed and reached for his pocket.

“Stay out of there if you know what’s good for you, Garcia,” said Ivan, unaware of how prophetic his words would come to be.

He spat on the floor before stalking off.

Danny didn’t risk voicing a comeback, but the look in his eyes was defiant.

Molenski was silent on the back seat of the Limo. That suited Ivan fine. He couldn’t get Inga out of his mind and the silence on the twenty-minute ride to the airport gave him a chance to think about her without any distractions.

He knew what he was feeling. A schoolboy crush. But on a robot. Why else had he been so hurt and angry when she had intervened on behalf of Garcia, earlier. But, even knowing how ridiculous it was to have a crush, to be feeling the first blush of love for a machine didn’t make the feeling any less real.

He began to fantasize about taking her from the Red Room and escaping when they got back. He imagined shooting Danny in the face when he tried to stop them and Inga resting her head on his shoulder as they drove off into the night.

A stupid fantasy. There was no way Inga would allow him to take her. She belonged to Molenski and he would have his bloody way with her tonight. Worse, Ivan would have to stand by and watch it.