Mo'Nique Johnson of the Onion Hotel in Elba had almost ten gigabytes of cat pictures. She started collecting them when she went to school as a young girl. This was back before the central school was closed, replaced and turned into a warehouse for onions. At the time she started with an ancient instant camera, moving on to a cellphone one and to a regular camera that was homemade. Her darkroom was located in the attic. Within time she scanned most of her pictures onto a computer disk drive. They were a point of pride.

Another point of pride was the Onion Hotel that was two stories and two centuries old. Mo'Nique lived there, rented out rooms for seasonal workers and those who couldn't afford better places. During these times there were many who couldn't rent better. While the state was slowly recovering from the short wars that ended almost a generation ago, the majority who still lived here were not faring as well. Steady work was hard to come by, prices for the basics were still high and electricity access was not stable. The upside was that there was plenty of water around.

Her husband was John Johnson, and their children grew up and moved away to better pastures by this point in their lives. John was a former police officer who retired with honors and helped with upkeep the hotel. He was quite handy and was the one that made Mo'Nique's camera for her. When he was not doing chores around the place, the man spent his time reading old fashion books on paper. This was due in part to the fact that the state internet system didn't extend out here to the people, unless they were government employed or well connected. Most people were not.

This rainy morning Mo'Nique was clearing off the downstairs bar and trying to get some mandatory government paperwork done. The landlady wished the bar was stocked, but the county was dry for all except for the new capital miles away. Supposedly. Between unruly tenants, constant breakdowns and supply issues, she considered breaking into her secret stash. Instead she booted up her old laptop and admired her collection of cats.

So calming that they were, Mo'Nique failed to notice a figure that entered and stared at her.

“Good morning madam,” it said in an unnatural voice.

In front of her was a plastic and metal creature not unlike a spider. Except this thing towered over her and had an artificial intelligence piloting it. Multiple limbs were used as legs and arms. The end of each one had three flexible fingers. In the center of this mass was a ball of eyes and sensors. Mo'Nique heard of rumors of this synthetic monster who served some important, super scary super smart AI called FAE. None of the stories told to her were good (or relevant to the story at hand).

“I am agent Bit Twenty Three, of the U. S. A. Homeland Security and you are at my service,” it continued.

Mo'Nique blinked. She thought of this one cat with black fur and white spots. It reminded her of dalmatians. More so because it was perched on a yellow fire hydrant.

A voice broke the landlady out of her thoughts, “Madam? Miss Mo'Nique Johnson? Hello, the earth to Mo'?"

“Err... Mo'Nique is just fine. What can I do for y'all?”

“I am looking for a tenant of yours. His name is Coyote, a digital uploader in a small metal drone body. Dog shaped of course. He is a person of interest and I don't see him around,” it replied, staring off into many different directions at once.

“Him? He checked out days ago,” she lied.

“Oh, I see. Well Mo' if you do see Coyote, do give me a call. One Twenty Three on your phone.”

Staring at her old cheap state issued desk phone, Mo'Nique thought again to some more cat pictures she snapped over the years.

“Madam, do you understand me?” it asked with its eyes scrutinizing her face.

“Of course. I understand you crystal clear.”

“Very good citizen. Bye!”

With that farewell, Mr. Bit shuffled out while keeping half its eyes on her.

Mr. Bit Twenty Three spidered out into the village street. It started to calculate its next action. Mr. Bit knew for a fact that Coyote was still inside the house someplace, shielded from its sensors. While normally it could have torn the place and people apart, it was ordered while in the pursuit of this uploader to use “kid gloves” for this task.

The people surrounding the capital here were not very loyal and prone to causing riots if “used” too hard. Resources and manpower were still stretched thin around here. Its master figured Coyote was here to cause chaos, and FAE took offense to that. Chaos and strife was its domain here, not this little digital cur.

There was no real rush to capture this traitor. The area around the state capital was monitored closely by satellites and all communication lines were watched. Digital escape was impossible. The borders were patrolled and were reinforced by state and federal agents. Physical escape was unlikely and considering it knew Coyote was somewhere in the hotel, all Mr. Bit had to do was wait until the dog made his move.

Inside, Mo'Nique made her way upstairs where her husband John was standing in front of a closet door.

“You're doing fine there Mo'?” he asked as the man moved away from the door.

“Oh yeah hun, as soon as I give our guest a piece of my mind. Come on out, sonny boy!”

The door opened and from the electronically protected closet stepped out a small drone shaped like a dog.

“Knew you could handle him like a boss Mrs. Johnson,” Coyote beamed.

“Oh boy, boy, we are in a world of hurt,” she sighed.

“Yup. Considering this walking boot jack has drones flying around outside, I would rightly say we are boned,” her husband added as he glanced outside.

“Am happy for my time here folks, but think I need to get going. Maybe a small distraction and I'll run for it?”

“No can do boy. That spider thing will get you for sure. Hun? Do you have any idea how to get out of this?”

John Johnson thought for a bit, “ Yeah, but you are not going to like it. Thinking about plan B.”

“Oh god noes,” Mo'Nique frowned.

Coyote raised a metal brow, “Plan B?”

“As long as my pictures will be safe!”

“Mo', they will be. I just need some time and help to set this up,” John reassured her.

So they schemed and planned as time passed.

Mid morning broke with the sun shining through the parting clouds.

The landlady walked outside and down the stairs to the garage. Inside was a rusty motorized trike that was another gift from her husband. On her back was a huge backpack that she placed in the rear basket of her vehicle. She hopped on and went to a neighbor's house to fill up. This was because the only real vehicle station in town was electric only recharge.

As Mo'Nique gassed up and paid 10 bucks a gallon (a steal these days!), she felt that there were strange eyes upon her. She thanked her neighbor and rode down the broken streets. People waved as she passed by and she waved back in return as she left the village. The lady was heading out into the countryside.

As she headed in a south east direction, the surrounding lands were mostly government sponsored corporate onion fields. Elba was considered the onion center for the state and the ones grown here were known for their hardiness and resistance to over watering. Mostly due to a combination of old fashion breeding and a little high-tech genetic engineering. Mo'Nique took note of the mostly human workers along with a few farm bots finishing up for an early lunch as she passed a couple of ox pulled food trucks on the dirt road.

Ahead down the road of her in the distance was the EEC Empire's Number Thirteenth fenced in solar fields, on what used to be someplace called Byron. Well patrolled by guards, human and otherwise, the solar panels were in various states of function maintained by an adequate workforce. Most of the juice went to power the small walled urban capital within viewing distance. She turned further south and tried to enjoy the ride.

Along the edges of the solar fields was an old sinking Victorian house that had seen better days. Living there was her old friend, Old Howard. He was a journalist who used to run an independent online newspaper back before the wars. Old Howard's online site got removed due to his inability to keep up with the licenses and bribes. That didn't stop him from continuing his work by printing old fashion newspapers, illegally according to the current laws.

“Ah, Mrs. Johnson!” he greeted her from his porch, “What do you have for me this week?”

“Hey there Old Howard! Got you some sunsets, sunrises, pics of the Onion festival and of course the cat of the week.”

“Very good! Let me see the goods,” he beamed as he took a look at them.

“It's white yellow tabby, bicolor harlequin I spotted outside the general store. Heh Howard?"

“Oh, yes?”

“I'm going to have some issues getting you pics for a month or so?”

“How come Mrs. Johnson? Anything I can do to help?”

“Not at all. My attic is going to be remodeled and it'll take awhile to replace the dark room stuff.”

“I'll just have to suck it up then,” Old Howard laughed as he handed her some newspapers.

Mo'Nique continued southward on a now poorly paved road. This was a slight improvement.  Shacks dot the tree lined sides here and there, as she pulled over for a familiar duo on horses. Approaching her they waved and greeted the landlady.

“Ma'am," greeted a mountain of a man called Miguel.

“Hey there Mrs. J!” smiled the much shorter woman called Sara Lee.

They were part of the local county countryside police; both gear up in ill fitted body armor and non issued makeshift weapons. Miguel sported something akin to an elephant gun while Sara Lee carried a solid metal bat. The horses were a third generation type, bred for police work. Mo'Nique thought they made a cute couple.

“Howdy there kids! How is the day treating you so far?” Mo'Nique asked as she handed them newspapers.

“No cholos run ins this week Ma'am. Though we had to get up early and wrangle in some errant bots,” Miguel answered with a sigh.

Looking up from her newspaper Sara Lee replied, “Last night I had to dry up some people on the other side of the New 90.”

“Are there still problems on that road? Deer?” Mo'Nique asked her.

“Not really. The new wildlife undercrossing that was put in is working well. The wall still keeps the rest out and the vehicles in. Haven't had car or truck suicide itself onto a moving train in months. Or anything else. Guess the bugs got worked out.”

“Anything else?” the landlady asked, looking behind her.

“Nah, you and your pack on the bike should be okay Ma'am. It's clear,” Miguel said with an eyebrow raised.

“Good, good.”

“Think we're heading towards Elba now.”

“Really?” Sara Lee asked, surprised.

“You two kids don't need to. Nothing is happening there,” as Mo'Nique gave a weak smile.

“Great! We might get lucky and have a boring time,” he smiled confidently back.

Sara Lee rolled her eyes, “Not great. You're jinxing us Mig'!”

He shrugged.

They made their goodbyes and went in separate directions. Within time, Mo'Nique made her way to a fishing pond near the New 90's wall.

“This is peaceful today,” she said out loud.

Along the shore she spotted beer cans (in a dry county), other debris and a small yellow cat. The woman took her camera out of her pocket and crept slowly to get a shot. The little creature paid no attention as it sunned and cleaned itself. A finger tapped Mo'Nique's shoulder and in turn she swore.

“Sorry about that. You are usually not jumpy!” a man's voice whispered.

“God Steve-o, it's been one of those days.”

“Did you get a good shot?”

Steve was a chef and owner of a good enough restaurant inside the capitol. He went to Mo'Nique on occasion for cooking ingredients and spices. There were always supply issues and he was always on the lookout to negate them. Today he was expecting a little basil, but instead got a whole backpack full as he pulled it out of her pack.

“Oh wow Mo'Nique, this is more than enough. Too much maybe? I'll still find a way to use it,” he smiled.

“I hope you're not going to slather it all over your meals?”

“Nah. What is this weird radio looking thing at the bottom of your pack?”

“Just techno junk I picked up for my husband,” she lied.

Behind them, the sounds of something breaking into a run were heard.

“What? What was that?”

“That's an issue I was working on Steve-o. You might want to get back right now. Take care, alright?”

“Sure thing, and take care of yourself Mo'Nique.”

“I'll will,” she frowned as she sped off towards home.

Bit Twenty Three was angry. As he sped away from the fishing hole at top speed, it chastised its incorrect prediction. Mr. Bit was so sure that Coyote was in the backpack. Instead it was just basil and a transmitter pretending to be him. As it made a slight course change and ran through a citizen's garden, the agent did give them credit for this little, but useless distraction.

Knocking over a worker eating lunch next to the fields, Bit Twenty Three checked the drones and noticed no one with a heavy pack or in a trench coat pretending to be fat left the Onion Hotel. It deduced that Coyote, that little turd, was hiding somewhere inside. The drones noticed unusual electronic signs on the attic floor.

It made its way outside the hotel and noticed an electric garbage truck with a recycling trailer parked outside. Odd, it wasn't supposed to be here today right now. Its records said so. Where were the workers? Most likely on lunch as an excuse, so someone sneaky could hide in the trailer. The refuse was taken out of the county to the north, passed the check points, and usually not checked.

“Clever dog,” Mr. Bit mumbled to itself as the metal spider creature burst through the front door of the hotel and made its way upstairs.

It passed John Johnson holding a thick metal broom and empty trash bag in front of a closet.

“I'm on to you, citizen! Don't go anywhere,” it ordered as it went further into the house and up to the attic.

Bursting through this door as well, Bit Twenty Three peered around with its eyes and senors. It noticed this place was well insulated, clean and with one cheap window with heavy curtains facing the street. A reinforced chimney steel plated, unusual looking, was off to one side opposite of a table with devices and fluid to develop pictures. Above it was a huge portrait of the landlady holding a yellow cat.

Electronic signals came from behind it.

Mr. Bit Twenty Three, of the U. S. A. Homeland Security, gloated at Coyote's poor choice of a hiding spot. It was shielded, but not good enough to protect it from its perception. The spider ripped the painting off and found a small door. The space would be large enough to fit the dog inside.

“There you are,” it gloated for the first half of second as Mr. Bit opened the compartment up.

In the other half of the second, the plastic and metal creature flew through the air. This was due to the forces of the shaped explosion propelling it, right into the chimney, mostly disabling it. As it tried to innate repairs and call for backup, John came up from behind and bashed it into total disability the best he could.

Mo'Nique Johnson, was almost at the hotel when she saw her attic window blow out from an explosion. People started poking their heads out of their homes and those walking around took notice. Slowing down to a stop, she hopped off her trike and took stock of the situation. She calmed the villagers best she could and within a couple of minutes her husband with a heavy trash bag appeared.

“Hey Mo'! We had a little accident. I'm so sorry,” he tried to say without a grin.

“Oh, noes. I just hope everyone is a okay,” she tried without rolling her eyes.

“It will be. Got some recycling. I want to take care before the garbage men come back.”

“Oh, good. Any trash?”

“It's still upstairs.”

Just then, a mess of wires, steel and plastic with legs jumped from the broken attic window and landed with a thud.

“You! And you! And mostly you,” heavily damaged Bit Twenty Three exclaimed pointing at the trash bag.

The couple with their trash bag were speechless. Onlookers either panicked and ran, or stayed fast waiting for its next move.

It advanced with a limp, “You all have made me very peeved! The things I'll do now! They are all on...” but was unable to finish its sentence.

A force of fast, heavy lead smashed into its core while a young woman with a solid metal bat followed a few seconds later up with a two hand swing. Her partner jogged up with a huge gun in hand, looking relieved. Drones fell from the air and were smashed to bits.

“Ma'am? I have to ask you what happened here,” Miguel asked.

“Oh please! It's a rabid deer, right Mrs. J? Been a rash of them,” Sara Lee said she looked over her shoulder quickly to see if the horses were okay. They were and she continued, “This county is lousy with them, right Mig'?”

The poor man slumped his shoulders, “For goodness sake, doing paperwork for a deer is more painful than putting the ink down on a crazed state robot!”

Mrs. Johnson put a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“I don't want to know about this.”

“I do! What happened?” Sara Lee asked, trying to do her job.

Miguel interrupted, “She doesn't and my partner is going to get right on the paperwork when we get back.”

“You are no fun. No fun at all,” she huffed.

Mr. Johnson gently places the trash bag in the recyclables, as the cops place what was left of the spider droid in the back of the garbage truck. Mrs. Johnson flick a switch in the cab. The rear of the truck crushed the trash best it could.

“This has been a right mess. Thank y'all for the assistance.”

The cops dispersed the crowd as the workers came back and got into the garbage truck. They made their way north out of town as a metal paw waved from the trailer. Mo'Nique thoughts turn to the tenants. When they get back, they were certainly going to complain about the broken doors and mess. Made her wish she ran a cat shelter instead, but her allergies would murder her.