23 Death by Chocolate

Chapter 23 DEATH BY CHOCOLATE Coke and Pep's first reaction was to make a run for it. They should have made a run for it. But there was something that stopped them. The figure looked just like Dr. Warsaw, but something was slightly different. It was hard to put a finger on it. "Are you.. Dr. Warsaw's clone?" Pep asked, trembling. "In a way, yes," the man said in a voice that sounded vaguely like the voice on a car navigation system. He took a step forward. "I could be his twin. I look more like Dr. Warsaw than you two look alike. I'm a perfect clone, you might say. But I'm not a clone in the biological sense of the word. You see, I'm a robot." It took a moment for that to sink in.

"You gotta be kidding me," Coke said. "Under my metal surface is a set of very complicated, sophisticated electronics," the robot said. "Twelve miles of wiring. Thousands of microprocessors. I possess all the information Dr. Warsaw does, and much more. And I know everything there is to know about you." "It's a trick," Coke said. "You're no robot." "Go ahead, Coke, touch me. I won't bite." Coke stepped forward and reached out to touch the robot's hand. It was hard, not fleshy. It felt metallic. Coke made a mental note not to punch the robot. It would only break his own hand. "Cold, isn't it?" the robot said. "You're bluffing," Pep said. "You don't know about us. When is our birthday?" "June twenty-fifth," the robot replied instantly. "Your home is in Point Reyes Station, California. You attend West Marin Middle School. Or you did, until it burned down under mysterious circumstances on the last day of

school. And you each have a small birthmark on your right foot." Pep gasped. Coke peered into the robot's eyes. There was no way to tell it wasn't a human. "You called me on the phone in our hotel room the other night," Coke said, "and you delivered that cipher through our car radio, didn't you?" "Guilty as charged." "What do the ciphers mean?" Pep asked. "Llano Estacado, a piece of the Blarney Stone, Hub City. What ties them together?" "I'm just the messenger," replied the robot, "and you ask too many questions." "Well, maybe you can answer this one," Coke said. "What are you doing here?" The robot wheeled around on its heel slowly, gesturing in an almost human but slightly jerky fashion. "Factories are special places," it said. "They're filled with robots, much like me. In fact, I was

built right here. And you will die here." "Ha!" Coke said. "You could never catch us. What prevents us from running away from you right now?" "This does," the robot said. At that instant, its hands telescoped out from its arms, like two antennas. "Run, Pep!" Coke shouted, but it was too late. Each robot hand wrapped around a twin's neck in a tight grip, leaving no doubt that the grip could be tightened further, crushing their necks. Coke tried unsuccessfully to reach for the cell phone in his back pocket. Pep let out a shriek. "Scream all you want," the robot said as it dragged them across the floor. "Besides you two, there's only one other human in the building." At that, another figure stepped out from the shadows. "Mrs. Higgins!" Pep shouted when she saw her. "That's right," Mrs. Higgins said, taking a few

steps closer. "I'm with him now. And we're in love." "What?!" Pep said. "You told us you were in love with Dr. Warsaw." "I was," Mrs. Higgins replied. "But Herman never returned my love. I'm not sure he's capable of loving anyone. And if I can't have him, I can have the next best thing. Isn't that right, honey?" "That's right, dear," the robot said, and then it leaned over to kiss Mrs. Higgins. "That's just sick!" Coke said. "You just kissed a robot." "Who are you to judge our love?" Mrs. Higgins asked. "Soon you'll be dead, anyway." "Sad but true," the robot said. "Dad! Mom! Help!" Coke choked. "Ha-ha!" Mrs. Higgins cackled. "I love to watch you work, darling. You're even more cold-hearted than Herman was." "Yes, Dr. Warsaw is distressed that he no longer possesses the ruthlessness necessary to kill

you personally," said the robot. "Fortunately, he spent years designing me—an almost perfect copy of himself, minus the burden of a conscience or feelings of remorse. The good doctor affectionately calls me... Doominator." Doominator stopped in front of a room-sized machine consisting of an endless series of wheels, gears, belts, lights, compartments, and switches. There was a one-word sign in front of it—SNICKERS. "You're insane!" Pep shouted. "Insane?" Doominator said. "The definition, according to my built-in dictionary, is 'of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a person who is mentally deranged.' No, I do not believe that I can be insane, as I am not—technically—a person." With that, Doominator lifted Coke and Pep up by their necks and threw them roughly into two large metal boxes that were attached to a conveyor belt. Bars slammed down over the twins to prevent them from escaping.