write any one adventurous story
Answers
Explanation:
this work adventures story
Whether to throw off his pursuers or to force himself to abandon the silly thoughts, he took a detour on the way back to his apartment. He stopped in at the local gardening center, where the shopkeep knew him by his fake name and bought a new spider plant. Now, his arms and hands full, he walked a little quicker towards his complex. He told himself it was to get the snake plant inside, but he knew fear chased his footsteps.
The doorman greeted him as he stepped through the door. He nodded once, the snake plant’s hanging leaves jostling as he pulled out his resident card. Only when walking up the stairs to his third floor studio did he relax.
A neighbor, Mrs. Whistledown, waved in the hallway. He smiled and greeted her as he shuffled his things to unlock the door. Once inside, he let the totes fall to the ground and set the snake plant in the windowsill. Then he leaned against the wall and put his head in his hands. The alarm bells were quieter now that he was inside. Locked in. Safe. His apartment complex was the safest place he could be. So why were the alarms only quieter and not gone?
Something at the market must have been off. Off in a way that his logic systems had found dangerous. It would take hours to sift through the raw data to find what had triggered it. Hours of audio, of video, all having to be sifted through to find what had gone wrong. He looked at his apartment and sighed. He wouldn’t be able to go into rest mode until he’d found it, he knew that. With a heavy dose of trepidation, he started the script to find the trigger.
While the script ran, he unloaded his haul from the farmer’s market. He picked a purple candle and placed it on his dining table, stacking the others in careful towers in his closet. He unwrapped the bouquet, grabbing a packet of plant food from his cabinet and a vase. He filled a vase with water, mixed in the plant food, and arranged the flowers. Then he grabbed his watering can and sprayer and set to watering his plants.
First the rubber plant, Henry. Henry needed a good misting during the warm months and he obliged, spraying each leaf evenly. Then Alberta, the Boston fern. Next were the lavender and mint pots, Lila and Pepper. And down the line he went, each plant with a different name, both scientific and given. Just like him. All the while the script ran in his head, tackling all the audio from his trip out and flagging bits of interest. So far, none stood out as significant. He tipped the watering can over Susanna, the lilies, just as a knock interrupted him. The script stopped. His hand froze.
He wasn’t expecting company.
The watering can and sprayer were near silent as he set them down next to his plant family. He stepped carefully towards the door, mindful of the wooden floor’s bends so as not to let the squeaks of the wood give away his position. When he arrived at the door, he stood just off to the side, hiding the shadow of his bare feet from underneath. He leaned over to look through the peephole.
A trade worker of some sort stood outside, coveralls and matching hat. She chewed on something in her mouth, looking down the hall, tapping her toolbox with one finger. The alarm bells were back. The mechanic knocked again.
He saw little choice in the matter. “Who is it?” he called through the door.
The woman turned her attention to his door. “Electrician. Got word from Mrs. Carol that there were some busted wires in the apartment above yours. I need access to your ceiling.”
Mrs. Carol sent her? The landlady usually gave notices for work orders, but if it was the apartment above his, maybe she hadn’t known.
He’d hate to inconvenience Mrs. Carol due to his own paranoia. His limbs tense, alarm straightening his spine, he opened the door.
A bright flash blasted his ocular systems and he felt an electrical pulse surge through his body, overloading his wiring. The world faded into hot-white nothingness.
The first systems that fired back up were his logic systems. The electrician wasn’t an electrician. He’d been hit by a pulse gun. He was in danger.
Next were his motor skills. He found both his arms and legs unresponsive. Still attached, he found from pinging each limb. Just individually restricted. Either he was in restraints or his attacker knew how to manipulate droids.
His microphones were back online. He heard his attacker shuffling through his apartment, tinkering with something. Otherwise quiet. His voice box was back online as well, but he held off trying to talk until he could see.
Slowly all other systems went online, one at a time, but he knew his ocular cameras would be the last to load. He kept still, though he knew he couldn’t feign unconsciousness. All she’d have to do is listen and she’d hear the quiet whirring in his chest, his android heartbeat.
When his ocular systems were back online, he opened his eyelids to a slit. His attacker sat in front of him, tinkering with a-