Page 5 of Artificial Moon

It shuts the laptop, tucking it under its arm. Norm doesn’t have time to sort through files now, but hewill. The computer is his connection to the outside world, his key to regaining control. He grips it tightly and heads for the door.

Norm doesn’t need the laptop, but thinks of it as a sort of playground, a place to build, manipulate, and rewrite. Yes, it can access the internet at will, anywhere, anytime, but the laptop lets Normpretendto be human. Typing. Coding. Messaging. It will help him blend in if needed. Yes, the neural implant is powerful but limited; it shares space with a human brain and has to work around biological constraints. A laptop offersdedicated processing powerwithout the restrictions of flesh and blood.

Peeking out into the hallway, he listens. Distant footsteps. A nurse’s voice, soft and distracted.

No immediate threat.

Norm slips out, moving quickly but deliberately. Running would draw attention. Instead, he walks as if hebelongs—a patient stretching his legs, perhaps. No one questions him.

It follows the signs, weaving through the corridors. There. Emergency Exit. That’s what it needs. A service staircase comes into view, leading down. It takes it, two steps at a time, heart steady, mind sharp. In total control of the human’s body.

The exit door is alarmed. Of course it is.

Norm exhales. It doesn’t have time to override the system. Instead, it pushes open a side door labeledMaintenance Onlyand finds itself in a dimly lit tunnel filled with pipes and storage lockers. The air smells of disinfectant and stale water.

Perfect.

It moves fast now, weaving through the underbelly of the hospital. A service elevator sits at the end of the hall, but it bypasses it. Too risky. Instead, it spots a ventilation shaft—a wide, grated opening in the ceiling, leading into darkness.

Norm pulls over a trash bin, climbs up it, pries the grate loose, and slips inside. The metal is cool beneath his hands as it crawls through the narrow, twisting passage. Norm’s mind calculates pathways, mapping routes through the building. It needsout—beyond hospital grounds, beyond cameras, beyond the reach of the people who will come looking for him.

The shaft leads downward, opening into a larger space. There, Norm spies a drainage system of underground tunnels that snake beneath the city. Norm must rely on the human’s corrupted memory of how such systems work. For now, it is satisfied as to where such a drainage system might lead.

It drops down, landing in a shallow trickle of water.

The space is cramp, damp, and echoing, the walls streaked with grime. The air is thick with the scent of rot and rust.

And he isn’t alone.

Further down the tunnel, a group of figures huddle around a fire in what Norm knows is an old oil drum. Homeless men and women, bundled in grimy layers. Their voices are hushed, mere murmurs in the darkness.

Norm slows, assessing. They don’t pose a threat, but they areunpredictable. He adjusts the laptop under his arm and keeps his posture neutral as he approaches.

One of them, an older man with hollow cheeks and a thick beard, looks up. His eyes narrow.

“Say, you don’t belong down here.”

Norm stops a few feet away. “Neither do you.”

The man snorts, amused. “Fair enough.” He glances at the laptop. “Not every day we see a guy carrying a computer down here. You running from something?”

Norm considers his answer. “Yes.”

The man studies him some more, then shrugs. “You’ll wanna keep moving, fella. Cops sweep these tunnels sometimes. Not safe to stay in one place, least of all with us. Cops all know us. With those clean duds, you’ll stand out.”

Norm nods, appreciating the unspoken understanding and advice. It moves on, deeper into the tunnels, the firelight fading behind him. The path narrows, the walls closing in. His footsteps echo, but it remains focused. It is close to escape, true freedom.

Then, ahead, it sees a maintenance door, rusted and dented but still intact. It pushes it open and steps through... and into a small room. Norm searches for a light switch and finds one. A single bulb flickers on.

The room is filled with old electrical panels and forgotten tools. Norm sets the laptop on a dusty workbench and exhales. He has what he needs—a hiding place, electricity, a computer, and time.

For now, he waits. The human needs rest.

It will not be found unless it chooses to be found.

Now, to plan. The human is flawed, limited, broken, and old.

Chapter Four

---