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SUMMARY: Let me know what you think. Still tinkering here and there and I likely will expand the concept into a novel in the future. Thanks!

FREE FALL

"I'd rather die a prisoner than live as a slave"
Pope - revolutionary/terrorist/poet

Stanley knew he would die a bad death the moment the hunter's boot fell. Each step struck like the tick of an old clock, pendulous and unforgiving; each stride brought the killer closer. Beneath a long, black coat, the hunter's shoulders lurched: misplaced joints rumbling where alloy coupled with flesh. Darkness—drawn wide by the brim of an old hat—shrouded the man's features, leaving only the porcelain glow of eyes glittering unnaturally beneath. A blood-stained bag swayed from the hunter's fist.

Between the other workers, Stanley stood, shutting his eyes as the footsteps of the hunter neared. When he opened them again one of his fellow techs had the mettle to grin.

"Which do you think, Stan? Heads or tails?"

Those nearest to him smirked.

"Undoubtedly heads," declared another as the bag bobbed into full view.

Down the winding hallway, more workers filed in to view the somber procession. They lined the walls, leaving a wide path for the killer to tread.

"I don't enjoy being forced from the lab to see this," Stanley said.

"A break's a break," replied the first.

They grew quiet as the hunter neared. The contours of a face pressed against the bottom of the burlap sack. Blood seeped from the corner seam and dripped to the grimy floor, dark and heavy.

Hunters made their livings on these kinds of displays. Augmented and modified, little humanity remained. Perhaps they had figured out how to remove the soul along with it, mused Stanley as his stomach lurched.

Fear spread, a fire through the ranks. Even now, the company monitored those who exhibited any sense of bravado. Through electronic eyes, the testers studied every nuance, looking for the slightest hint of discontent.

All smiles disappeared as the men beside Stanley sobered; each of them lost in his own thoughts. So another worker had decided to take his chances and escape. Some made it out into the city, but they never got much further than that.

Inevitably, they all ended up the same: a head swaying in a small sack.

Loss renewed. Memories of Anna played before him. Flashes of calm, still moments when, for once, nothing had mattered. Her face still came to him. He thought of her soft, supple flesh, and the agonizing perfection of her beauty.

"Stanley," said a low voice, "it is time to go back to the lab." The man had known Anna and compassion threaded his tone.

Stanley straightened his drab suit as the milling throng of people slowly dissipated from the corridor. "Yes. It is."

******

Stanley sat up in the lonely confines of his quarters. For a moment he thought Anna lay with him still, but the heat of her dreaming touch quickly faded. His hand gripped his small pillow in spite of himself.

Until he had met her he had ignored the emptiness. But she had changed all that. In unspoken moments they had known of things that no one ever dared talk about here. Times in coital afterglow, with the weight of her head resting on his chest, the constant pressure subsided.