Imi lay sprawled on her back on her bed, staring up at her heart-dotted ceiling. She had decorated her room with pink heart wallpaper and lacy purple curtains, which was awesome- when she was six. Now she just kind of hated it, so she plastered every corner except the ceiling with environmental posters.

"SAVE THE WHALES!"

"STOMP OUT BULLYING!"

"RAINFORESTS ARE PEOPLE TOO!"

All this and more, along with some Bob Marley and Simple Minds posters. She didn't really like very many people, but the few exceptions were pretty cool.

Her door pushed open, seemingly by itself. Eighty pounds of fur and muscle in the form of a shaggy black Newfoundland vaulted onto her bed and settled next to her torso. Imi rolled over to snuggle with Sammy, her favorite pet.

"Nobody understands me, Sammy! Everyone at school hates me because I'm different! I don't know if I've been doing something wrong this whole time or what."

Sammy looked at her with his chocolatey-brown cookie eyes and licked her chin. She straightened up into a cross legged position and took his huge head in her hands.

"And you know what," she sniffled, her sadness giving way to rage, "I don't even care. Nobody cares about me, why should I care about them? The entire human race can go suck it. I'm fine with just you, boy."

She glanced at her Bat Woman wall clock and breathed heavily through her nose. "Nine O'clock. Dad should be home in a few minutes. He's the only good human on this planet, I swear. I've never even seen him set a mouse trap."

Sammy nodded, almost as if he understood her, then raced out the door, down the stairs, and waited by the door like he always did.

Imi spent the next hour holed up in her room blasting music through her headphones in the way that the health teachers always say will make you deaf in ten minutes. She assumed that her father was already home, even though she didn't hear him. Nowadays he was so busy with work sometimes he wouldn't even come home to have dinner, and would instead stay at the labs all day. He always told her, though.

Just like a good father should.
She shut off her music and waited patiently. Almost immediately the familiar sound of the screen door slamming crashed throughout the house. Imi vaulted out of her top bunk, threw the door open, and raced downstairs. Her dad was standing in the doorway, spectacles askew, brown hair mussed up, scrubby whiskers on his face.

And blood soaking his white lab coat.

Imi gasped, and her vision immediately contracted to a tiny pinhole in panic. Without thinking, she ran over to him and held his hand tightly. Throwing an arm around his shoulder, which wasn't hard because she was six inches taller than him, and supporting him as best as she could, she led him over to the couch. She supported his head quickly with pillows and padded the area with the most blood with paper towels.

"Dad, you're hurt! Just- just stay calm…Lie down and relax. I'm calling the ambulance."

Before she could run to do so, he grabbed her arm. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone who looked like they had been hit by a truck. His lip was split, and a bruise was darkening on his left eye.

"No… No, Imi. Wait. They'll know if you do."

Oh god oh god oh god. Imi pulled away and laid his arm down beside him. "Dad, just try to relax. You're going into shock. Just stay calm. Everything is going to be okay."

Her voice caught on the last word. Her dad had always said that to her when she was sick or injured.

"I love you."

"Imi. I'll tell you what happened. Just calm down."

She kneeled beside him. "Dad. Who did this to you?" Tears poured from her eyes and she looked like she was going to be sick. She maintained her grip on his hand.

"Imi- we finished the project we were working on. The turrets. They-they shot everyone. One of them was defective." His voice caught. "They shot everyone."

"Oh my god. Dad. If we call 911, they'll arrest you for working on something so dangerous without a license!" Imi's dad had never shot a gun in his life. He always carried a jackknife and some Mace, but never a gun. He always said that the people carrying guns were more dangerous than the guns themselves, and he didn't want any part of it. And now he had been shot by his own special project. The turrets. Imi almost couldn't understand it.

"It's okay sweetie. Everything's gonna be fine." His voice was getting more and more strained with every word.

"I love you. So, so much."

His eyes closed.

"No! No, wait! DAD! Don't leave me!"

Imi buried her head in his chest and sobbed. Why God? Why did it have to be today?

She stood up, placing his hand on his chest. She picked up the phone, curling the wire around her hand, and called 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My dad just came home from work. He was shot. Please. Send help," Imi heard herself saying, even though it was already too late. She knew he was dead.

"Oh. Okay. Where are the bullet wounds? We'll send you an ambulance right away. Just remain calm and dress the wounds."

Sammy had been sitting off to the side, almost as if her were unsure of what to do. Now he was nuzzling her father's hand, digging his nose into his palm and whimpering.

"But he's dead!"

"Do you know who he was shot by?"

"These-these robots he was working on at work! They- something went wrong!"

There was a few second's pause as the lady digested this new information.

"Miss, this line is for emergencies only. If you want to prank someone else with your little robot story, that's fine. Don't call again unless someone's really injured or killed."

"But- WAIT! I swear it's true! I need help! I'm so scared- please-"

At that exact moment Sammy started to whimper even louder from the couch. He raised his head and howled.

"Is that someone LAUGHING behind you?!"

"WAIT! NO-"

Click.

Imi slammed the phone onto the receiver in frustration. A chip of plastic broke off and bounced against the linoleum floor.

She knew what she had to do now.

She ran up the stairs to the hall closet and grabbed a thick woolen hat, her dad's huge leather coat, and some gloves. Before she pulled them on over her striped pajamas, she went over to her dad.

"Dad. I'm so sorry this happened to you. I'm gonna find the people who made you work on that project."

Imi's eyes flashed dangerously. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and she scrubbed them off with a huge glove.

"They're gonna pay."

She grabbed a picture from the mantel over the fireplace. It portrayed a nine-year-old Imi, her dad, and her mother. Imi hadn't known what was happening the night her mother stormed from the house with her briefcase, all she knew was that her dad had cried for months, and her she hadn't seen her mom since then. She still loved her though. Him too. She crammed the picture into her pocket.

She tied Sammy's leash around his neck ran outside into the freezing Michigan wind with him in tow.