Tunnel of Love

Barry Sommerstein knew only one thing for certain. The next time he found a Craiglist ad asking for henchmen, he would NOT answer it, not even in jest.

Looking back, everything seems obvious. He’d figured the ad was a joke for some progressive and funky marketing agency, and the short and sweet interview, the slightly over-eager manager, benefits package (generous though it did require a curiously complete physical exam), charismatic and friendly field head (a nice touch too many crazies in upper management), all still kept that an open possibility. But really, he should have known better. His luck hadn’t been what you would call, good, in some time. Certainly not that good. The uniforms were the final clue. Black lace up boots, black overalls with grey elbow and knee patches, high tight collars and a curious silver embroidered symbol on the breast pocket. At least he didn’t need to wear a goofy silver hat like those suckers in the control rooms. But he was a henchman, no two ways around it.

Where was he now? The last place they had been air dropped, five miles or so outside Kansas City, in June. You’d think it would be hot, but here – a hundred feet or so down in a massive earthwork tunnel with a couple dozen other henchmen, a few hundred robots and some earth movers – temps remain a balmy 54 degrees. Perfect, if he was a vintage French Champagne. But he wasn’t. Not by a long-shot, and this sucked.

Well, there was one thing in its favor, two things really. First, they were close enough to Kansas City to tap into Google’s fiber network, so in his scant downtime, his internet was awesome. But more than that, Barry was in love. He hadn’t been sure before, but as the tall redhead from Sector 7 walked past with the latest ALIC ai companion model androids, he knew. He hadn’t spoken to her yet, but he just knew and it hit him like a hammer.

As the increased oxytocin and seratonin flooded his system, a small sensor embedded in the collar of his uniform began transmitting. Deep in the automated intelligence center for Maximillian Argosi’s (evil genius) robotic tunneling center, one computer in the back kicked on with a hum. 3.7 seconds after processes began, his baseline data compared, new data points (including the triggering event this afternoon) added and analyzed, the computer sent its orders back through the system.

.96 probability – emotional influence and lost productivity.

.72 probability – second party influenced.

Standard protocol Theta.

Terminate.

4.6 seconds after he fell in love, a near-field radio broadcast ignited nano-particle explosives that had been injected into his bloodstream during his intake procedures. Barry felt flushed and warm. The thudding in his heart became a deep pounding and his eyesight began to go slightly pink. 8.3 seconds after Barry fell in love, his heart, kidneys, lungs and liver fell apart, and he fell to the hard packed earth, conscious for the moment only of the way her legs looked from this angle as she walked down the cavernous tunnel.

32.7 seconds after Barry fell in love, Standard Protocol Epsilon placed a Craigslist ad for a new henchman.