Early in the 21st Century, THE TYRELL CORPORATION advanced Robot evolution into the NEXUS phase – a being virtually identical to a human – known as a Replicant
The new NEXUS 6 Replicants were superior in strength and agility, and at least equal in intelligence, to the genetic engineers that created them. Replicants were used Off-World as slave labour, in the hazardous exploration and colonization of other planets. Older models – NEXUS 2 through 5 were used on Terra as low-grade labour. Forced to do the jobs of low class humans. Special police squads – BLADE RUNNER UNITS – had orders to shoot to kill, upon detection, any malfunctioning Replicants.

This was not called execution. It was called retirement.


March was always one of the hot months in Los Angeles.
 The warm wind tossed small bits of kipple into the air. The small particles turned and seemed to dance in the wind.
 High over the industrial sector of the city, and high over the bellowing, flaming stacks above, Rick Deckard’s spinner whizzed through the air.
 Four and half-hours later he touched down on a small patch of dry, dust ground.
 As he was about to exit the spinner he noticed a small brown dog running towards him. He got out of the car; the dog ran up to him. Bearing its teeth admitting a low, harsh growl. It’s legs spread. He looked at it. A piece of its hide flapped up and down in the March winds. The metallic gleam of the dog’s circuitry exposed.
 He continued to walk forward, past the dog, which didn’t seem to overly mind.
 Ahead was a small, wooden house. He approached it and entered. The dog following him, wagging it’s tail happily after just acting defensive towards him, obviously a flaw in its emotional programming.
 He looked at the surrounding. Nothing more than a mere cot, table, and kitchen facilities. He walked over and sat down at the table. The dog marched over and curled down next to him.
 He looked out the window, out into the dead wheat fields. Over the horizon he could see a large mechanical wheat collector coming through the fields at a pacing speed.
 Moments later the collector slowed to a stop a few feet from the house. High atop the collector the red-iron door wearily banged open and a rather large man began his decent down the rung latter.
 Deckard watched with fascination. He’d never actually seen one of these wheat collectors before and marvelled at the size of the thing.
 He could hear the sound of footsteps coming near the door. Suddenly the dog perked up, his ears raised. It got up and ran towards the door.
 As the door began to open, Deckard got up from the chair and moved his hand closed to his jacket, reaching for his gun.
The door swung open. A large man, wearing a plastic, black gas-mask-like face cover entered. He looked at Deckard, but made no reaction. He walked over to the kitchen and put a pot on the stove.
 He then looked at Deckard. Slowly he removed his facemask. Underneath bore a grim muscular face of a man with brown, crew cut hair.
 The man then fished his hand around in the sink and pulled out a pare of spectacles, dripping with condensation. He pulled a cloth from the sink and began to dry them.
 He then spied the dog, sitting in the corner of the room. He slipped on his glasses, walked over to the dog, and grabbing it by its collar and ushered it out the door.
 He then turned to Deckard, strode over to the table and sat down. He motioned for Deckard to do the same.
 Deckard sat down.
 “You and your buddies can’t just go around and kill two of your human employers and expect to get away with it.” Deckard said.
 The man didn’t reply.
 Suddenly the kettle of the stove began to bellow steam. The man rose, fetching two cups from the cabinet he poured hot water into them. He then opened another cabinet and produced two lichen tea bags.
He set them all neatly on a little tray and slowly brought them before Deckard.
Before he had time to react the bullet pierced through his artificial heart.
Cups crashed to the ground, cracking into splinters.
Deckard strode up to him, putting the gun back into his holster, bent down, half leaning over the broken cups and fished his hand into its mouth.
He starring into its blunt, stunned face. Its eyes open and blood shot.
He felt around inside the mouth, searching around for the latch. Finally finding it, he flipped it up and removed the lower jawbone.
Lifting it out he read the incept data.
If they’d put life spans on these things it’d make my work a hell of a lot easier. Deckard thought to himself.
Leaving the body where it was he strode outside. The dog ran up to him and started barking. Ignoring it he walked to his spinner. Still clutching the jawbone, and entered the spinner.
The dog ran up to the spinner as it lifted off, but the smoke and sound of the spinner’s lift off muffled its rabid barks.

Finally hours later, he was home. He rode the elevator down to floor 97.
 As he went down, he recalled some of the events at the station:
 “Here,” he’d said, slapping the jawbone on Bryant’s desk.
“Christ.” Byrant muttered. “Could have taken it to the lab. Come on have a drink.” He said fetching out a bottle of fine Scotch.
 “Thanks.” He’d replied. “You’re gonna get a liver problem if you keep that up.”
 “All be burning in hell before they tell me I’ve got a problem.” Byrant said.
 “I’m going home, ok Cap?”
 “Fine. See ya tomorrow Deck.”
 “Yea, see ya later.”
The doors slid open, he walked into the hallway.
 Fishing out his keycard he slid it through the lock. The door opened, he entered.
 The apartment was empty. Empty now that Iran had left.
 He again recalled the event that had started the whole thing…

Dimly he heard the faint sound of Buster Friendly on the TV. Iran had turned it down to low.
 As he walked into the living room he saw Iran sitting on the sofa asleep. The TV, still glowing with Buster Friendly. He switched it off and strode into the bedroom.
 Dropping he coat onto the bed he went to use his mood organ. He didn’t see it anywhere. Iran must have put them in the drawer. He went over and opened it. Empty.
 Puzzled he went into the living room and woke Iran.
 She opened her eyes. “Rick?” she murmured.
“Where’s my mood organ?” he replied.
 “Mood organ?” she mused. “I got rid of them.”
 “What!” he said, roughly grabbing her and seating her up right on the sofa, “You did what? Why?” he shouted into her face.
 “I hate those things! They’re pointless. The news said we don’t need them anymore. Just like Mercerism. They’re all pointless things. Just like Mercer! Look,” she picked up something from the other end of the sofa and handed it to him. “It came when you were gone so I followed their instructions.”
 He picked it from her hand and read it.
This is to inform you that series of tests have been conducted over the past ten years proving that—

 He broke of from there; he didn’t want to here it. He didn’t want to know the truth.
 He slapped her across the face. “IT’S NOT TRUE!”
She was talking crazy.
“Sonovabitch…” Iran muttered. She got up and walked away looked serious pissed off.
But did it have a slight ring of truth to it, what she’d said?
He walked to the corner of the room. There, sat their empathy box. Corroded with kipple and unused sense 1992, when it was proved to be fraud. Iran had set a small houseplant on top of it, which had long since died.
Mercer, mood organs. All those things and more in his life were proving to be false these days.
 “I’ve  have it,” Iran started. “This isn’t working. It’s time this marriage ended…”

 He sat down on the couch. The apartment was now his. He could do what he wanted. Deckard missed his wife at the very, and maybe only moment. Had it only been a month sense they had got divorced?

The unicorn emerged from behind the trees. Raising it’s main, it tossed its head up. Trotting on through the forest thought the shrubs and trees. It then came out into an opening in the forest, the warm sun gleamed and reflected off it making it glow. It looked up, above the trees--

Deckard opened his eyes. Had he been dreaming?
He looked around. He was seated on the sofa. He looked at the clock on top of the TV, 8:00AM.
He was late. He shot up from the sofa, without changing his cloths, he ran into the bedroom where he’d left his coat the night before.
He ran out the door, through the hallway and into the elevator, which he took up to the roof.

The Hall Of Justice on Lombard Street had stood there for more than forty years, even after that long the building was only now starting to show slight signing of wear.
 As Deckard walked down the high ceiling, blue lobby he wondered what he was going to be assigned to now.
 He enter Captain Bryant’s office.
 “Morning Deck.” Greated Bryant.
 “Hey Bryant.” Deckard replied.
 “You want a drink?”
 “No.” He hastily replied.
 Looking taken back Bryant shifted his weigh. “On to business.” He stated.
 “What now?” Deckard asked.
 “Got three skin-job walking the streets.” He replied. “Two of them Nexus-4, the other a 3 on the account of murder. Together they killed 6 specials, meatheads. They were all friends. The fours worked out of the same employment, Kaiser Plastics. Oh and Deck… and--”
 “What?” he cut in.
 “I want you to take a rookie out with ya.” He replied.
 Before Deckard had the chance to object Bryant cut back in. “It’s only three Deck, take him out for the first one okay. Just one all right?”
 “Who is he.” He asked.
 “Ray McCoy. Just upped to the unit. Kid seems sharp enough. Had him doing routine schizoids until you were done. I want him to learn from the best Deck. You are the best.”
 “David Holden’s the best.” He replied.
 “Holden getting on in age. Not as fast as he was. He’ll have to retire soon enough.” Byrant replied.
 Deckard let out a faint laugh. Holden will have to retire. Maybe a rep could retire him? A bad joke and he knew it.
 “Okay where’s the kid. I’ll get the info from my car’s esper.” He replied.
 “Just wait Deck. I want to show you something first.” He opened his desk drawer and fished out a few papers.
 “What’s this?” he asked.
 “Nexus-6 info.” Bryant replied.
 “Sixes?” he answered.
 “Not on Terra yet. Dominguez colony has been using them for about a year now. Seeing how they run. Tests are over soon and they’re gonna ship them in six months. Take a look.” He passed Deckard the papers.
 He leafed through them. Lots of legal stuff, few pictures. “Interesting.” He replied.
 “Look, don’t tell anyone yet ok, you’re the first one to know other than Holden. Don’t spread it around yet.”
 “Got it.” Deckard replied. “Mum’s the word.” He patted his nose.
 “The kid’s up in the esper room. Go get him and kick some rep ass ok?”
 “Right Bryant.” He replied.
 He set the papers back on Bryant’s desk.

Deckard rode the elevator up to the forth floor where the esper room was.
 When the doors opened he looked around at the musty, smoke scented hallway. He followed it along until he came to a room clearly marked ‘Esper Room’. He walked in through the open door.
 As her entered a man in the esper chair turned to face him.
 “Hello.” He said.
 He got up from the seat and extended his hand.
 “Raymond McCoy, but call me Ray. You must be Rick Deckard.” He replied.
 Deckard took his hand and shook it. “Yea, but you can call me Mr. Deckard.”
 At that remark, Ray looked taken back. “Sorry Mr. Deckard.” He quietly murmured. “I’ve uploaded our orders from the esper in advance for you,” he said passing Deckard two onion skin papers.
 “Good work kid.” Deckard said.
 He looked at the info. First on the list was the Nexus-3, Luba Luft.
 “Okay look kid,” Deckard replied. “These are my orders. You’re tagging along. After the first kill you’re done ok, let’s get that straight.”
 “Alright.” Ray replied. “So let’s go kill the rep.”
 “It’s retire. Get it right kid.”
 Again Ray shook his head to show he understood.
 “Okay the first is the 3, Mrs. Luft. It gives an address here. Let’s get started ok.”
 “I’m ready.” Ray said.

Mrs. Luba Luft lived out in the first sector in a newly built apartment complex.
 As the spinner touched down on the roof, Deckard explained to Ray that he was to administer the Voigt-Kampff empathy test on her.
 “You know how to run this?” he asked Ray.
 “Yea. Ask the questions, measure the gages.”
 “Not as easy at that, I’ll be watching the machine too, but don’t mess up anyhow.” Deckard replied.
 “Why are we doing the test anyway? We know she’s a rep.” He said.
 “We have to use it for legal reasons. Say we kill her and find out she wasn’t a rep, we’d be in shit.”
 “We know she’s a rep.” Ray repeated.
 “Only if she admits it, but you never know.”
 They strode down the hallway on the 20th floor until they came to room 2020. Deckard knocked on the door. Abruptly a cheeky face appeared as the door swung open.
 “Yes,” the cheeky woman asked.
 “Hello Miss,” Deckard said in his classic high tones voice. “My associate and I represent the LA health standards and regulations association, we are here to give to a personality test.”
 “Personality test?” she asked. “I already had a physical this year if that’s what this is about.”
 “No, not at all.” Ray said stepping in. “Different matter, we just administer personality tests every ten years as a census to file personal information in health records more accurately.”
 “Okay. Come in then.” she replied.
 As they walked in both Deckard and Ray were stunned to see tons of cats sitting all over the apartment. “Are those real?” Ray asked.
 “No.” she admitted rather sadly. “All artificial. I love cats, but there aren’t enough real ones anymore, so I had to turn to animoids.”
 “Oh.” was all Ray could say in reply.
 “Please, sit down here.” she said gesturing to the table next to her.
 She sat down, Ray seated himself at the other end and set-up the test.
 “Okay now, I’m just going to ask you a series of questions involving social situation. Reaction time is a factor in this so please answer as quickly as possible. Shall we begin.”
 “Fine.” She replied.
 “Okay now, what is you name?”
 “Mrs. Luba Luft.” She answered.
 “Where do you live?”
 “1276 Encrust Avenue, Apartment 2020.”
 The test was running smoothly and Deckard’s mind started to wander. Ray was doing a good job.
He noticed one of the cats in the room was quite close to him. He walked over to it, sat down on the sofa and began to stroke the cat’s head.
 He turned to see how Ray was doing.
 “You’re reading a magazine,” Ray started. “You come across a full page nude photo of a girl laying on a bear skin rug. You show it to your husband, he likes it so much he hangs it in his study.”
 “My- m-my husband wouldn’t do that, we don’t even have a study.” Luba replied.
 The gages registered a little low. It was common. Deckard went back to stroking the cat.
 He must of lost track of the time because before he knew it Ray got up, put the machine away and said to her rather nervously. “Okay Mrs. Luft—um, thank you.”
 Hearing this Deckard stood up and went to Ray, “What happened?” he whispered.
 “She registered human.” Ray replied.
 “What?” Deckard replied. “Mrs. Luft, what if I were to tell you we are from the LAPD and that you, and your husband are under suspicion of being malfunctioning Replicants.”
 At that Luba took off. Quicker than Deckard had suspected. Out the door she sprinted, Deckard and Ray on her heels.
 That what Deckard has suspected to happen. Typical Replicant reaction.
 “How’d you know?” Ray asked.
 “2’s and 3’s always flee. It’s a flaw in their programming. Once they’ve been found out they either gives up or run.”
 “Then what was the point of me giving the test?” Ray asked.
 “Legal reasons!” he replied.
Running down the nineteen flights of stairs, Deckard and Ray were starting to close in.
 Out the main doors she went. Her physical level must have been and A. They followed her into the streets.
 Through the crowds she made here way. Deckard was close now, he aimed and fired, just missing, hitting a street pole.
 They were on the highway now. She ran onto the streets. A car swerved by Deckard blocking his way. Suddenly he heard a thump. The sound of the car alarms, and the sound of horns. He hopped a parked car to see the site of Luba’s head paved into the asphalt, her left arm snapped completely back. Bits of her head all over the road.
 “Great! Just great!” Deckard yelled as Ray approached.
 “What?” Ray said, then spying Luba he turned pale.
 “That’s at least a thousand dollars bounty money gone.” Deckard said. “Do you not know how in hell to use a Voigt-Kampff McCoy?!”
 “I don’t know what went wrong,” he started.
 “Damn right you don’t.” Deckard said cutting in. “Bryant’s gonna be pissed off.”

“What in god’s name were you doing McCoy?” Bryant yelled. “Learn nothing in training! Voigt-Kampff’s are not toys!”
 “I- I don’t know what happened—“ Ray started.
 “Damn right you don’t!” Bryant snapped. “Get the hell out McCoy.”
 Ray left the office. Deckard sat in Bryant chair sipping more scotch for him.
 “Were lucky the bone marrow test proved her a rep.” Bryant said. “Or we’d sure have something to deal with.”
 “I don’t know about the kid.” Deckard replied.
 “Not the brightest BR out there is he?”
 “He seemed to be doing the test fine—“ Deckard started.
 “Don’t think you’re off the hook too Deck!” Bryant cut in. “You should have been watching!”
 “I know.”
 “I know you know. Come-on Deck you’re best. Don’t mess up. I’m not overly pissed at you. McCoy is another story though.” Bryant glanced around the room, looking for what he was trying to say. “Okay Deck, go home. Work on the case tomorrow, alright?”
 “Bryant!” Deckard replied.
“Do it.” He looked around again. “Go.”

 When he got home he fished open his briefcase and pulled out the onion-skins about the Replicants. The next was Luba’s husband, Steven Luft. He didn’t want to go back there yet so he decided to tackle the next one. The last was Alexander Frife.
He decided he’d disobey Bryant’s orders and finish him tonight and take Steven in the morning.
After a quick shower and a drink he walked out the door again.

Alexander Frife lived out in the eighth sector, one of the worst in LA.
 As his spinner flew through the sky, Deckard observed the many decaying and toppled building strewn about the sector.
 123 Abert Complex was where Alexander spends his time.
 Deckard landed the spinner on the roof and walked out onto the slick, rain soaked pavement of the roof.
 He wasn’t going to blow this one.
Not like Luba.
This was one of the old buildings, one without elevators. Deckard had to climb the stairs.
Luckily Alexander lived one floor below the penthouse.
He walk down the concrete hallway, dripping with condensation, he found the room he was looking for: 1203. He entered.
“You’re the Blade Runner?”
Deckard turned to see Alexander standing in the apartment hallway.
“You’re the Blade Runner that killed Luba and Steven?” he asked.
“Not Steven.” Deckard replied.
“Oh.” He replied. He seemed surprised and the littlest bit annoyed.
“You should have killed him. He’ll be mad when you go to finish him.” He hesitated. “I’m admitting to being a rep up-front. I’ll spare you doing the test on me.”
“Thanks.” Deckard replied. This was a first, he through.
Alexander walked up to him, right to his face and said: “Just kill me now ok.”
“What?!” Deckard replied, stunned.
“I loved Luba, Steven and I both did. If she’s gone there’s no point. Steven knew her better than me. I wanted to marry her, but…” he trailed
“You reps give up too easy in time of crisis.”
He pulled out his gun.
“Thank you.” He replied.
He blew off his head.
This was the fastest kill he’d ever made.
He needed the bounty money. He didn’t want to lose this one.
“Maybe those two will be happy together, wherever they go.”
No, he though. Replicants don’t have souls.
He looked down at the body. Pieces of it all over the floor.
He couldn’t help feel sorry for him.
What was he thinking!? Feeling sorry for them? This was how it started. He was heading towards the curve. He was loosing it.
“No.” he said. “This isn’t happening to me.”

He opened his eyes. It was the next morning. He was on the sofa again.
 He looked around; sunlight was piercing through the blinds.
 He got up and went into the bedroom, and put on a change of cloths.
 He then proceeded into the hallway were he had left his briefcase. Picking it up he exited the room.

After leaving the apartemnt, Deckard got back into his spinner and headed out to the first sector, to the newly built apartment complex where Luba (or at least) Steven Luft now, lived.
 He headed back to room 2020.
 He opened the door, which was strangely unlocked, and entered.
 He looked around. “My god.” He whispered. The animoid cats lay everywhere. Each of their heads decapitated by some sort of blunt object.
 He walked over to one and looked at it. It was the same on he’d been patting while Ray had done the VK test. Even without its head he was sure it was the same cat.
 Suddenly he heard the sound of a gun.
 Quickly he turned to see Steven, holding a 9mm Magnum. His face was stern, and extremely angry.
 “What have you done with Luba.” He asked.
 Deckard didn’t feel like lying to Steven so he admitted to truth to him. “She’s dead.” He replied.
 “You killed her!” he cried.
 “No!” Deckard blurted. “No. She killed herself. Ran into traffic. I couldn’t stop her in time.”
 “But you were going to kill her anyway!” Steven replied. “You bastard Blade Runners don’t have any feelings do you?!”
 He lowered his gun a bit, but Deckard didn’t chance reaching for his gun yet.
 “She was my wife. I loved her. Maybe not real love but as real a love as replicant feel. Don’t you understand that! Couldn’t you spare her?”
 “You murdered people, specials. You just can’t do that. You’ve obviously malfunctioned. It’s my job to stop you.” Deckard replied.
 “You don’t understand do you.” Steven answered.
 “I do.” Deckard replied.
 He though of Iran again. He could tell how Steven felt.
 “I lost my wife too.”
 “Don’t try to trick me by being sympathetic. I don’t believe you.” Steven replied.
 “Fine.” Deckard said.
 Then without warning, Steven dropped to his knees, dropping the gun inches from him and began to cry.
 Tears streamed down his face. He face strained.
 “You know Alexander loved her too.” Steven said, catching his breath. “He wanted to marry her, but Luba turned him down for me. I felt special because of that. Or at least I believed I did.”
 Deckard looked down at him. These were the sorriest bunch of reps he’d ever come across.
 “I have to finish this now.” Steven said.
 Deckard grabbed for his gun.
 Steven picked up his gun, and put it to his head and said: “Perhaps it was better to have loved and lost, than to never love at all.”
 “NO!” Deckard cried.
 Steven’s body fell to the ground. The bullet when right through one ear and out the other.
For a moment he stood there and looked at him. What he’d said really touched him. It made him think of Iran.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered.

Ten days later…
“Get this!” Buster Friendly boomed. “In Dominguez the government was testing new Nexus-6 Replicants under supervision of the UN and Tyrell Corporation.
“Two days ago an unmonitored Nexus-6 combat team assassinated six members of the Dominguez colony. One of the victims happened to be the one and only President Ryo Haying.
“It looks like bad news for Nexus-6 coming to earth friends.
“Wait!” there was a suspenseful pause. “Late breaking bulletin! UN and Dominguez councils have reached final verdict on this startling matter.
“The Dominguez colony has decided to take matters to the supreme court to declare Replicants illegal on other colonies, under penalty of death and to give Replicants a limited life span.
“Friends believe it because it is true! You heard it first on the Buster Friendly Program!
“What is this going to mean for the future of Tyrell, Terra, and the entire state of the colonies?
“Also, can these Nexus-6 models be perfectly safe. I mean I’m not talking combat models, but what about our standard work labour? That’s why Dominguez decided to take it to courts I would assume.
“Will the limited life span be affective?…”