“You grab the ankles.”

They picked up the heavy shape, features rendered indistinct in the light glimmering from a slice of moon, lifted it up and over the railing, then watched it tumble down to the water a hundred feet below. They watched the shore, lined with factories and a few docks for any sign of activity, any sign that what just transpired was known to more than the two people on the darkened bridge.

“Two?” The younger of the pair looked to his older version.

“Yeah?” Two reached in his jacket and pulled out a box of cigarette, beat them against his palm, then pulled one out. He put it to his lips, but did not light it.

“We did the right thing.”

“Don’t worry about it, Three.”

A click in the door, a lock pulls back into the door, then dim light pools on the concrete floor of the garage. The older of the two of them stepped in, flicking on a light-switch.

“I thought so. He was still using it.”

The machine stood in the middle of the floor, benches filled with tools and parts lining the walls. The inside of the machine glimmered faintly blue through the plexiglass cover. Three stepped forward and wiped the condensation from the chamber with his shirt-sleeve. “Did you know he was still doing this?”

“No.”

“What are we going to do with it?”

“Same as we did with him.”

“You can’t kill him. It’s not right.” Three chewed hard on his fingernail.

“What One did wasn’t right. That’s what we’re here to correct.”

“But Four is already alive. He’s just still asleep.”

“Don’t call it that.”

“He’s alive, and he needs a name.”

“Because it’s not supposed to even exist. We’re not supposed to exist, either.”

“So what, are you going to kill me next, then yourself?”

Two looked at the stained concrete. “No.”

They stood there in the meager light and soft throbbing hum of the chamber.

Two thought about what he felt he needed to do next. Three thought about how things never work out how you want them to. Four merely slept, dreaming of fields and sunlight and a life he vaguely remembers but has never lived.

Two turned away and picked up a crowbar, hefting it in his hands. Three could not see this, but his face was twisted in sadness and anger. He began to turn back to face Three, but did not finish before everything went dark.

The machine was still humming in the middle of the room when Three returned, alone this time. He grabbed at the garage door opener through the fabric of his shirt and the door rose up, echoing off the other sleeping houses in the cul-de-sac.

Three scanned the sky for a few scant stars as he strapped the chamber in the back of the truck. He bent over and pressed his forehead to the glass of the chamber, the hair on his arms lifting from his skin, standing up like reeds. Four was curled up inside like a baby bird, naked and sleeping.

“Everything is more complicated than it needs to be,” Three whispered softly. “You should know that.”

Editor’s note: Today, the 7th of November, is my birthday.